


Lovers to Strangers

by Bagchuu



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Drank too much apple juice, I forgot how to tag, M/M, Memories Forgotten, ONEUS AU, ONEUS songs included, Ten Years Later, bartender gunhak, currently drunk, hwanwoong is a dancer, ten years after a devastating breakup, youngjo is a painter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagchuu/pseuds/Bagchuu
Summary: It’s astonishing as to how much one can alter themselves after experiencing such a thing called heartbreak.Heartbreak, the one thing that pulls you from your feet, and drags you into a deep abyss that seems almost never-ending.The one thing that makes you cry and scream at the empty walls in a cold room at three in the morning, as your fists are clenched tighter than before, nails digging into your palm, the lights open, because insomnia has you still in it’s firm grasp.The one thing that makes you realize that you’ve fallen in love with the past that can never return, leaving you stuck in memories, resulting with you staying exhausted for days.The one thing that still keeps you up at night with dark thoughts, still scattered by the tiniest broken fragments of hope.No medicine can ever fix the pain of longing so heavily for the one you love.ORDancer Yeo Hwanwoong falls in love with the past that returns.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn & Yeo Hwanwoong
Kudos: 23





	1. Strange Encounters to Small Bookstores

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Hello and thank you for checking out this book.  
> This book was written a long time ago, and posted with a different couple, but I took it down, because when brainstorming the plot, I had originally seen this book being a Ravwoong book.  
> Despite my gut telling me not to publish it, I had, and ended up regretting it.  
> So, here it is! the original book!  
> Happy reading!

Kim Youngjo had lived for years as a man who was able to freely express his feelings with whomever he had the desire to express them with. 

Colors filled with joy, strokes filled with sorrow, painting filled with sincerity and dedication, abstraction filled with nothing but desperation…

A yearning wish of some sort. 

These sorts of feelings. 

But he had never wanted to  _ share _ these feelings with anyone.

He had never wanted to laugh at the same corny joke with someone, even if he had heard that joke all his life, looking into their eyes as they dance with delight, lips lifted upwards into the most beautiful smile one could’ve ever imagined, lighting up every corner of the world, while sitting on their light grey rusty leather sofa that had been passed down to him after being used to its fullest extent—and still finding it the most comfortable place on earth.

He had never wanted to lean down, look at a face filled with pure innocence, yet holding all of the wisdom it needed, and simply just kiss that face filled with utter beauty.

And hold them for hours, until the blood circulation to his arms would get cut off, but he wouldn’t care.

And pepper them with small kisses, spreading dots of love all around their body, leaving impacts as big as fireworks, blasting everywhere.

Exchange such love.

Physically. In a carnal manner.

That is, until he met a man named Yeo Hwanwoong.

  
  


If you were to read this story, one would have determined this tale as another typical clich é —a cliché that would one cringe away in disgust, seeing the two lovers not be able to stay together due to their harsh circumstances.

Another Romeo and Juliet scenario, one that would end in a tragic manner.

No. 

This is not that story. 

This is anything  _ but  _ that story. 

For _ this _ is the tale of two lovers, who had once  _ been  _ apart, now to be reunited once again, their atoms returning, their souls bonding. Alas—they were destined to be. 

* * * 

After all those years, when Youngjo laid his heavy eyes on the man he never thought he’d see all his life, he could’ve sworn that he stopped breathing for a few seconds. 

Time slowed down,  _ everything _ slowed down.

A dog chasing the frisbee his owner (who was a friendly neighbor across the street) had thrown suddenly vanished, along with the frisbee.

The birds chirping early that morning had quieted down, the sun’s bright rays had dimmed themselves, any light chatter here and there had washed away as though there were no living, breathing soul that dared to exist on the sidewalks at that moment.

The only thing he saw was Hwanwoong. 

_ His  _ Hwanwoong.

He couldn’t believe his eyes—it couldn’t be—it wasn’t real.

Of course it wasn’t.

Was he hallucinating? He most likely was.

The Hwanwoong he knew was one who had left him…

For good.

So there was no _ absolute  _ way in hell(or heaven) that this was utterly real. 

And suddenly, Youngjo’s heart started beating faster, his palms getting sweaty, feeling his heart thrum loudly against his chest, hearing it so well in his ears that he thought his chest might explode—that every atom that composed him might just burst apart. His mouth went dry, and his soft lips hardened. He couldn’t breathe properly, feeling his lungs give up on him. No matter how much air he tried to intake, it wasn’t enough—it could never be enough. His mouth was parched to its fullest extent, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as his orbs widened at the sight of the man walking down the clean streets, somehow making the air around him more beautiful.

Explosions went off in his mind and heart, as he desperately tried to grasp at the last strings of reality that hung in front of him.

It was Hwanwoong. It really was.

The one who had left him.

And suddenly, he felt his body heating up, as though there was a fire set around him, making him want to run away, yet…

Run towards the fire.

The fire who’s bright light caught his eye, luring him, his eyes  _ hungrily _ gazing over the flames, as his fingers trembled, wanting to clench the fire in his fist tightly and never let go.

The tempting fire called Yeo Hwanwoong.

* * * 

Youngjo tried to keep himself sane, wiping his clammy hands on his grey trench coat, feeling his hands tremble the slightest bit.

_ Is it really that Hwanwoong…?  _ He wondered, hoping that it was, while at the same time, hoping it wasn’t him.

Woefully, reality always had to reassure him of the discomforting truth.

For alas, it was Hwanwoong.

_ The  _ Yeo Hwanwoong. 

Youngjo could only stare from a distance that boldly stood in between the two of them, as time made the older slow down.

Youngjo employed that as the opportunity to take in the other’s stance, his appearance.. _ everything _ .

His once, fluffy, light brown hair, that danced on the top of his head was a light purple, parted neatly, letting the light reveal his sharp cheekbones, adding more of a sculpted, chiseled look to his face.

His once honey brown, soft, loving, eyes that danced in the rays of the sun, were now dark and hard, as though he had hypersthene for orbs. They were now dark, hard, mysterious, and….

Intimidating. They deemed him as a foreign person.

His formerly light-hearted smile that held joys of getting to see the future was now gone, replaced by a pair of exquisite lips that was lifted upwards from one side into a teasing, tantalizing smirk.

It almost seemed evil.

His faint, beautiful, moth-like eyebrows were now dark and full, contrasting his light hair, as his left eyebrow now had an  _ “X”  _ engraved in its arch. It was lifted upwards, matching his smirk.

His face had gotten more fair and sharp, as though it had been sculpted with the hands of God himself. He had obviously lost weight, which hit Youngjo with a large weight of disappointment.

The older still did care for Hwanwoong, even if time had passed.

Hwanwoong no longer wore the same baggy, oversized clothes that used to shrink him, making him blend in with a crowd.

The plain clothes with a boring, solid color, one with sleeves too long, ones that wouldn’t cling to his body. Ones that would let the faint breeze whisper against his skin.

Instead, he wore clothes that made him vibrant, ones that  _ made _ him stand out, ones that made people stop and stare, and whisper about how expensive his clothes looked. 

Youngjo could only feel his legs slowing down as he saw Hwanwoong walk towards him, one hand holding a dark brown Louis Vuitton bag, another stuck in the pocket of his jeans.

Youngjo’s eyes widened at the sight of Hwanwoong’s designer jacket, grey, with colorful sparkles all over it, making Hwanwoong look extremely vibrant and visible. (Not to mention, the jacket itself was very beautiful.)

However, the jacket didn’t make him look feminine in any sort of manner.

It made him look….

Rich. 

High. (In status.)

Deluxe.

Elegant.

Beneath that jacket, he wore nothing more than a simple plain black button-up collared shirt, which was tucked in very neatly into his skinny black jeans.

_ Jeans?  _ Youngjo squinted his eyes to look closely. 

The Hwanwoong  _ he _ knew  _ hated  _ jeans.

Hate might not be the most appropriate word to use, but he was  _ very  _ much  _ not  _ fond of jeans at  _ all _ . He always stuck to a loose pair of sweatpants, ones that rested on his petite waist comfortably.

But this—this was the  _ complete _ opposite. 

This pair of jeans looked like it rather than  _ resting  _ on Hwanwoong’s waist, they  _ suffocated _ it. It showed off his legs, looking as though the cloth itself was going to rip open any second. 

Just to complete that look, Hwanwoong finished it all off with a pair of Givenchy Black combat boots, ones that made a noticeably loud  _ thud,  _ making each light step Hwanwoong took, hard and heavy. 

Youngjo’s eyes trailed up towards the plain black choker kissing his neck, accompanying the collar around his neck, as his eyes then rode up to his earrings. 

Two dark black studs, ones that were noticeably dark.

He gave off such a….

Mischievous look. 

It was as though with one glance, he could reveal your deepest darkest secrets.

It was bone-chilling.

Hwanwoong  _ radiated _ a rich man’s aura: the arrogance, the smirk, the walk.

Youngjo could only stare, pondering upon how they both differed so greatly in matters of appearance.

Youngjo’s fluffy, brown hair rested atop his head, as his tan skin stood out underneath the sleeves of the long light grey trench coat he was wearing. It fit him well, along with a baby pink wool sweater he wore, and slightly loose blue jeans with that. 

To finish the look, he had worn plain black shoes (they were sort of worn out), those being the first pair he could grab.

Youngjo heavily dreaded crossing paths with him, but as their distance became visibly smaller with every step taken, Youngjo admitted that one way or another, they had to make some sort of conversation.

_ Right? _

But when Hwanwoong walked straight past Youngjo, it was as though Youngjo’s heart had dropped straight into the pit of his stomach.

Hwanwoong didn’t even bother to spare him a mere glance, or even break out a small smile. He simply continued walking off, the foreign look on his face never fading away.

“Wait, Hwanwoong!” Youngjo said very lightly, grabbing onto the younger’s arm, halting him to a stop, feeling nothing but the rough fabric of the jacket resting between his fingers. 

Hwanwoong turned around, his eyebrow raised a bit more, making Youngjo’s heart thrum louder, but he swallowed that feeling away, clearing his throat. 

“Hwanwoong...hey…”Youngjo said, nothing else being able to escape his dry and scratchy throat.

Hwanwoong looked at Youngjo hard for a few seconds before taking a deep breath in annoyance, taking a step backwards, carefully removing his jacket from in between Youngjo’s fingers, the action itself causing the jacket to graze against Youngjo’s fingertips, tickling them, as his hand stayed in the same place, in the same position.

Instead of shock, Youngjo’s wide eyes were now replaced by a confused expression, his furrowed eyebrows meeting, eyes slightly squinted, the corners of his lips slightly tugging downwards into a small frown. 

“Excuse me….have we met before? Because I have a lot of students, and if you’re looking for an session, you’ll have to schedule a time-”

“You….you don’t remember me, Hwanwoong?” Youngjo said, feeling his face and hurt burn as Hwanwoong shook his head in response, taking another step back, perplexion rooted deep in his expression.

Youngjo slowly regained himself, blinking his eyes hard. “Are y-are you  _ sure _ ? You really don't...remember me…?” He asked, the question directed more towards himself than Hwanwoong, as his finger was pointing at himself, finding it extremely difficult to look the younger in the eye.

Hwanwoong moved, shifting his body a bit so that he could be right in Youngjo’s vision, right in front of his face.

“Sir, I’m not sure whether we’ve met before…”

The rest of Hwanwoong’s words faded away, not allowing themselves in Youngjo’s brain, as memories resurfaced like an old film, appearing right in front of his eyes, the quality one of its own, for he was once there himself to experience it all.

  
  


_ A sunset streaked the sky a mixture of pink, orange, and yellow. _

_ The sun shone brightly before leaving for the day, awaiting night to come and take over, as the two lovers had walked hand in hand. _

_ Hwanwoong’s tiny, cold hand fit perfectly into Youngjo’s warm hand, sending shivers down his back as they walked along the sand. _

_ The breeze announced the calm of the night which was to arrive, as the sun soon seemed to drown into the deep abyss of the water, the dark void itself expanding outwards, presenting a dark sky that lulled the hyper rapids to calm, soothing waves. _

_ They both were holding vanilla ice cream that was on a cone, sprinkles settling on the top of the cream. _

_ Hwanwoong’s ice cream melted, making its way onto his hands, slithering sneakily through the webs of Hwanwoong’s fingers. _

_ It always did. _

_ Youngjo playfully tsked, taking a tissue from his back pocket (he always kept a pack of tissues, he knew what a messy eater Hwanwoong was), ushering Hwanwoong to lick the rim of the ice cream cone as he took Hwanwoong’s other hand, wiping the ice cream that had now messily clung slightly to his skin, dripping off the tip of his delicate fingernails, falling onto the cool sand.  _

_ The moon stared in awe as the two lovers continued walking, the silence reappearing every now and then to accompany them when they did not need words to fill them up. _

_ “You little baby, what would you do if I wasn’t here to wipe this off, hm?” Youngjo playfully asked, booping Hwanwoong’s nose as he stuffed the tissue into another pocket in his light blue jeans. _

_ Hwanwoong hummed, smiling as he shrugged, as his eyes glazed over the resting water, the moonlight reflecting into his eyes that seemed to sparkle. _

_ The night air stretched between the two, making the younger seem even further away, for it was evident that he was lost in his addicting thoughts. _

_ “Youngie?” Hwanwoong said, turning to face Youngjo after a while of nothing but comfortable silence. _

_ Youngjo sighed euphorically, smiling at the man he had once loved, nodding. _

_ “Yes, angel, what is it?” He asked, his gentle tone matching the feeling of the night itself, chuckling as Hwanwoong blushed, his cheeks tinted pink at the nickname, his fingers curling, forming into tight fists that held the truth to their future. _

_ Hwanwoong contemplated for a while, his mind battling with his heart, finally deciding to speak his mind, rather than forever holding his peace. _

_ “I love you.” _

_ The words had an impact larger than expected, as Youngjo felt time suddenly halt to an immediate stop. _

_ Youngjo's head suddenly jerked a bit violently towards Hwanwoong, who was looking at his feet, kicking up small bits and pieces of broken rocks, ashes of sand blowing away into the air. _

_ He looked at the Hwanwoong, who was aware of the knowledge that their relationship would soon be scattered, a heartbreaking portrayal of those ashes. _

_ Despite the very sudden confession, Youngjo broke out of his startled expression, clearing his throat as he smiled, grabbing Hwanwoong’s hand, Hwanwoong’s tight fist loosening itself, coyly curling around Youngjo’s hand. _

_ What was the matter? Had he done something to Hwanwoong? Why was he suddenly expressing his feelings in such an open manner? _

_ You must be advised to not mistranslate this action and misinterpret Hwanwoong’s personality, for he was not truly alexithymic. He did not have a lack of emotions. It was more that he was not very expressive, and did not wish to acknowledge these emotions as much as others did in such an open manner. _

_ Youngjo’s heart urged him to talk to Hwanwoong—to talk to him, to plead him, to ask him to share his heart’s desires, show him his vulnerabilities, to be present with him in the moment, to speak of the heavy emotions that weighed down upon him so heavily- _

_ But Youngjo tightly pressed his lips together, binding them, not allowing the tempting words to escape his lips, ignoring their pleads, as they dared to spill past his rosy lips and roll off his tongue- _

_ “I love you too, Hwanwoong. No matter what happens in the future, I will always continue to love you.” _

_ Youngjo did not anticipate any sort of action—words would not appear till decades later- _

_ Surprisingly enough, Hwanwoong nodded, staying silent as they walked further into the deep chasm of the soothing night, nothing but the sound of the waves gently sweeping across the damp sand, returning every now and then, reassuring the remaining of the world of its presence- _

“Sir?” Hwanwoong's thin, delicate voice filled his ears, his  reminiscing interrupted by a voice filled with years of aching and pain, one that seemed as though it was in…

A never-ending abyss.

Youngjo stared hard at Hwanwoong, trying to make sense of this helpless situation that he seemed to be stuck in.

Is this what ten years had done to Hwanwoong?

Wiped away all memories of happiness and togetherness, dreams flourishing and love sparking the air with colors and faint laughter?

All of the memories containing their time spent together?

Every memory that had seemed sempiternal, never ending-

_ A halcyon spring breeze accompanied both of them, as Hwanwoong’s shoulders were sheathed, Youngjo’s soft wool gray cardigan draped over his small body, the smell of cinnamon bouncing around Hwanwoong, adding to the calming, serene mood encompassing the both of them.  _

_ Glasses filled with wine clinking against each other, as the luxurious red wine kissed the sides of the glass before returning to a pool of nothing but a blood-red abyss. Hwanwoong and Youngjo smirked at each other, fully aware of where this would lead them to later on in the night, mercilessly tipping the glass upwards to quench their thirst, as they let the stars watch.  _

_ An old movie playing, but it wasn’t being watched, for the two lovers had fallen asleep, tangled in one another, muddled in their love, fingers lightly grasping onto the other, soft snores escaping their mouths, as time unfolded the next few chapters of their lives. _

“Is this...is this what time has done to you, Hwanwoong?” Youngjo asked, his voice willing to waver at the end, but he managed to keep his voice straight and firm, his eyes boring into Hwanwoong’s, desperately searching for the truth.

Youngjo found himself trapped in a befuddling sea of a lack of emotions, yet annoyance.

Hwanwoong sighed, frustration climbing into his veins. “Look sir, I don’t know you, and if I did, I would’ve-”

“Bull.” Youngjo half-whispered, the muscles in his jaw tight, twitching, before he swallowed down what seemed to be a rock. His throat felt like sandpaper.

This couldn’t be real.

Ha. Of course this wasn’t real. This was all a dream. It was all a bad prank, or a joke of some sort (one Youngjo wasn’t appreciating at the moment), or just a really heavy illusion-

“Excuse me?” Hwanwoong snapped back, eyes darkening. (Although Youngjo thought that couldn’t happen, they were already stone black.) He was being stopped by a stranger, only to be purported as a liar. 

“Listen here, lanky-” Hwanwoong started, only to be interrupted by Youngjo, who snapped back, absolutely furious, mostly at himself, and then at Hwanwoong.

“No,  _ you  _ listen here,Yeo Hwanwoong.” Youngjo spoke in a low voice, one that unintentionally made Hwanwoong’s insides shiver, as the hairs on his neck rose, goosebumps trailing along his body.

He shivered, but his body seemed to be on fire.

“I may not have been a good boyfriend to you, or at least, that’s what you  _ think. _ And I-I’m sorry if it did seem that way.” Youngjo stopped to inhale deeply, trying to stop his heart from fluttering as much as it was.

Trying to stop those forgotten feelings from rising again, haunting him, as they had been for the past ten years, even when he hadn’t seen the younger. 

“But...was I- '' Youngjo’s voice cracked, as he inhaled deeply. “That bad of a...person? Was I that bad that you pretend to not know me anymore?” Youngjo whispered the last part, as tears crowded his vision, threatning to fall any second.

People gathered, staring and whispering at the both of them.

_ Weren’t we like that at one point? _

_ Young love...what can one say? _

_ I would kill for the tall boy, he’s so handsome! _

Youngjo ignored the whispers that pricked his ears, eyes focused solely on Hwanwoong.

The world went still for the both of them, fate’s eyes wide, curiously eager to see how this would end.

Hwanwoong’s eyes had widened, body cold and stiff, as his lips were slightly parted.

His eyes were raw.

Vulnerable.

Hurting.

Years of longing, aching and pain,  _ loneliness,  _ had exposed itself for a second, before Youngjo’s tears cascaded down his cheeks, pain rooting deep in his heart.

Hwanwoong felt an uncertain feeling tug at his heart, his brain  _ begging  _ him to remember this person, to somehow bring back a part of his memory that he might’ve forgotten-

Through his blurry vision, Youngjo could see Hwanwoong turn on his heel and run, his hands slightly shaking.

He didn’t look back.

Youngjo stood there, fists tightly clenched, staring after the younger.

Alone.

* * *

The salty taste of Scotch burned Hwanwoong’s throat, as fire danced on his tongue, as a fuzzy, warm feeling spread through his chest down to his stomach. 

The blinding flashing lights seemed to dim a bit by the time Hwanwoong had his glass re-filled for the seventh shot, the amber liquid tumbling over the half-melted ice cubes, making them float in the liquid surrounding it.

There was loud bass music, as it thrummed deep into Hwanwoong’s core, adding to the tipsy buzz growing from the roots of his throat, that already felt harsh and scratchy. 

His dark eyes had gained more of a mischievous spark, as it careened in the blinding lights, making the spark blow up in his eyes, the same expression dancing on the edges of his lips, all sorts of thoughts running through his head.

The shot glass was wiggling between two gentle fingers as Hwanwoong then held the shot glass, his hand curling around it, swigging it, making sure to ingurgitate every last sip, before setting it down with a  _ thunk _ .

After drinking continuously, the alcohol had finally taken a toll on him, revealing everything that he had worked so hard to keep hidden from the world.

Panting, Hwanwoong’s head caromed on his chest, eyes closed, woe seeping through his eyebrows, the expression permeating through his face, the corners of his lips no longer brought upwards in a smirk, for they were now dipped downwards, his shoulders hunched downwards even further, as an evident sigh escaped his lips. 

A glass of red wine was being slightly swayed, two fingers on either side of the stem, latching themselves onto the base, as fingertips remained on the base(putting pressure on them, fingers bent at a certain angle) on either side of the stem, as vicious droplets whispered against the side of the wine glass, then returning back, forming and easing back into the abyss it was a part of. 

For the man drinking it had never got out of his addicting habit, returning back to the drink, one of the only reminders left of the man that he loved.

Raising an eyebrow, Youngjo lifted the glass, holding it by the bowl, as he lifted the cold rim to his lips, tipping the glass slightly upwards, the smell of roses and citrus capturing his nose, making his mouth water as drops of saliva swirled on his tongue.

The full, strong, flat taste of wine stormily flooded his mouth, as Youngjo let the taste pierce his throat, feeling a hot sensation swirl down into his stomach.

The loud, encasing music’s heavy bass convulsed the chestnut oak table as Youngjo placed the glass back on the table, the glass shuddering the slightest bit, the wine pendulating, rocking back and forth, lulling to the music that roared people awake. 

Sudoric bodies were cramped together, strutting to the music that seemed to bleed into the ears of everyone, colorful lights scanning the place, leaping into the eyes of the eager, hopping out of the eyes of the heartbroken, for they did not want to reveal the streaks of pain that ran too deep.

* * *

Hwanwoong’s right hand slumped down, forearm slamming against the marble counter, almost colliding with the drink, as the drink trembled in sudden alarm, a few drops crawling over the side of the rim, trickling down the glass, peacefully laying down on the counter. Hwanwoong stayed silent, head bobbing against his shoulder, eyes half closed, his eyelashes sinfully lustrous, spreading out, like a butterfly’s wing. 

It was simply breathtaking.

Even when drunk, Yeo Hwanwoong has become one of the most breathtakingly beauteous people Youngjo had ever seen.

“I wonder if he really doesn’t remember me….” Youngjo muttered under his breath, lifting up the glass to his lips once more, pausing to stare at Hwanwoong, as his teeth clunk against the rim, making Youngjo’s jaw twitch.

Was this another heart wrenching case of anagapesis?

“It’s so  _ fucking _ loud in here, and yet that faint sound still manages to get on my nerves.” Youngjo sighed against the glass, as he connected the rim to his delectable lips, imbibing the sinful Cabernet that made his heart pump louder in his ears.

He  _ had  _ gotten better at tolerating alcohol, after all these years of drinking alone. 

Still keeping his gaze focused, he got lost in the utter grace of Hwanwoong.

He had let grace fill his gaps, refine his errors, cultivate him into a more...complete portrayal of himself in others, and his own eyes.

Youngjo sighed, setting the glass back down on the table as he dipped further back into the leather black sofa, leaning against the armrest with one arm, bringing his hand up to his chin, as though he were lost in deep thoughts of time, letting the couch hold him for a while.

Such was life.

Waking up meant nothing.

Eating meant nothing.

Going to work (or school of some sort) meant nothing.

Working on something you had not understood yet meant nothing.

Sitting with a family member meant nothing.

Mere crushes meant nothing.

All of that meant nothing, have you not the desire to  _ make  _ meaning out of it.

Have you not stared off into space, either looking at someone, lost in the thoughts of them, nothing but them, because you simply love them so much?

Have you not cried for hours, releasing hot, heavy, shameful tears, due to the fact that you love them so much, that you have swallowed bitter pills for years, just to love them?

Have you not drunk the most raw, pure, strongest alcohol, in hopes of getting rid of your thoughts that encased them, only to steal tomorrow's happiness?

Have you not written numerous,  _ countless _ letters to them, expressing your greatest love, exposing your heart, hands shaking, as you opened your conquering thoughts, your greatest enigma, of whether they love you as much as you love them—whether they’ll  _ ever  _ love you.

In the same manner that you love them.

  
  


_ And then came the day that Hwanwoong had found one of Youngjo’s letters, stuck underneath the old mousepad that he had often used, connecting it to his laptop, rather than using the touchpad itself.  _

_ As Hwanwoong had been playing a game, he shifted the mouse, thus causing a bump to disturb him, as he stared down at the plain black mouse pad in confusion. _

_ “What?” He muttered to himself, picking up the mousepad, finding a smudged, bulky manilla envelope. _

_ Hwanwoong’s eyes shone in pure curiosity, as he thrust a hand in the envelope, finding a bunch of papers come up, in bundles. _

_ “What?” He asked, repeating the same question, opening a folded piece of paper, eyebrows furrowed together. _

__ Dearest Hwanwoong,

_ Hwanwoong stopped reading the letter, looking at the date. _

_ The aged ink against the paper dated back to a year ago.  _

_ Hwanwoong squinted his eyes, rereading the date once more. _

_ A year ago? _

Words cannot express my utter adoration for you, for I continue to cherish that feeling. There is no part of you that is not simply breathtaking, or utterly beautiful.

You have always been my favorite person, and you will continue to be my favorite person. I feel as though no matter how much I’ll write this, it’ll never be enough. 

I cannot describe how much I-

_ Hwanwoong tore his eyes away from the paper, hands trembling just the slightest bit.  _

_ Fear surrounded him, trapping him in such a manner, that it was impossible to escape. _

_ “No...it can’t be.” Hwanwoong muttered to himself, voice breathy, his hand reaching up to touch his lips. _

_ He put the letter down, taking another one into his hands, checking the date. _

_ It was written a month ago. _

Dearest Hwanwoong ,

I was staring at you today, as we sat together, and ate lunch. You noticed, and blushed. It was the cutest thing on Earth. 

I swore I’ve never felt my heart beat as fast as it did in that moment, just-

_ Hwanwoong placed the paper down on the table, the letter still gripped tightly, his fingers cramping, but he didn’t care. _

_ “I’ve liked him for so long...and he didn’t bother to tell me…?” He whispered, feeling tears well up in his eyes.  _

_ Everything that had occured in the past have should have made it the slightest bit obvious, but it seemed as though Youngjo was suffering with a case of nedovtipa; he had to be one of the most fucking clueless people out there.  _

_ The game on the computer was still playing, for it had long been out of Hwanwoong’s attention, the lights of the villain's gunshot reflecting in his flooded eyes, filled with aeipathy.  _

_ From a distance, Hwanwoong could hear the shower go off, the trickling water come to a rest, as the squeak of the handle echoed through the bathroom, the sound trailing to Hwanwoong. _

_ “Shit...I need to get these letters back inside…” Hwanwoong muttered, struggling to stuff the letters back inside, only to have the letters topple out of his hands, clumsily spilling all over the floor. _

_ His heart was racing at the speed of light, as multiple possibilities ran through his head. What would happen now? Would their friendship diminish for eternity? Would Youngjo get mad? How would- _

_ Youngjo walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a fluffy white towel, as Hwanwoong’s head jerked up, a small gasp escaping his lips. _

_ Youngjo wore a sleeveless black tee, along with a pair of gray sweatpants that perched loosely on his waist, his droplets of water trailing along his golden, smooth, tan skin, as he entered the room, stopping abruptly, his lips half-parted. _

_ “Hwanwoong…” He trailed off, looking down at the letters he had written to the fragile boy sitting in front of him, fear rushing to fill up the tense atmosphere that had frozen the both of them. _

_ Hwanwoong looked up, like a lost puppy, as his eyes betrayed him, tears crashing lightly onto the floor, gushing, spilling like a waterfall, as a cry escaped his lips, his whole body trembling, as he desperately attempted to say something—anything, to talk to Youngjo, to apologize for invading his personal space, and for making him feel this way for so long, or thank him, to let him know- _

_ Youngjo rushed to Hwanwoong, making sure not to slip on any of the papers, moving them to a side, bringing Hwanwoong to his chest, cradling the younger in his arms, who was blubbering, still trying to form words through his lips- _

_ Effortlessly lifting the younger off of the ground, Youngjo brought him to his periwinkle blue couch, setting him on the loveseat, still keeping a firm hold on the younger, who stayed leaning against the older. _

_ Doing what he always did whenever he needed to calm down. _

_ Hwanwoong closed his eyes, intaking Youngjo’s scent. _

_ A floral, sweet, herbal-like scent with a pinch of a balsamic undertone swirling into Hwanwoong’s nostrils. _

_ The smell of lavender. _

_ That was always what the older smelled like. _

_ “Hwanwoong...I-I’m so sorry-” Youngjo started off, regret dripping in his tone, his eyes not meeting Hwanwoong’s, unable to reassure himself of the fact that the younger would actually want to see him anymore, to even want to look at his shameful face- _

_ “No.” Hwanwoong’s voice trembled, as he slightly pulled away from Youngjo, both feeling a snug sensation of warmth leave their side. Hwanwoong faced Youngjo, taking his warm, feathery hand, into his own. _

_ “Youngjo, look at me,” Hwanwoong said, attempting to speak in a firm manner, as his voice broke, and more tears streamed down his cheeks.  _

_ This was really happening. It didn’t feel real. This….this buzz. This bubbling feeling in his heart—this excitement. After years of living through the torture of one-sided love, they’d finally confront these hauntung feelings- _

_ Hwanwoong closed his eyes, feeling them burn harshly against his eyelids, as he inhaled deeply. _

_ “Youngie, look at me.” He spoke, this time, not a firm tone, yet a whisper.  _

_ Slowly, Youngjo lifted his shameful eyes to meet Hwanwoong, tears brimming in his own eyes as well. _

_ There was a pool of nothing but pain from loving too much, those emotions floating in Youngjo’s tears.  _

_ “I’m so sorry, Hwan-” _ _  
_ _ “Let me speak,” Hwanwoong said quickly, bringing a finger up to Youngjo’s full, soft, pink lips. He sighed, dropping his hand onto Youngjo’s thigh, squeezing it lightly, as he lifted his head, eyes gently meeting the older’s. _

_ Hwanwoong laughed, as he tried to find the perfect words to say.  _

_ These feelings were real. They felt the same way. They- _

_ Youngjo leaned down a bit. _

_ “Don’t tell me, Hwanwoong,” He whispered, voice breaking. _

_ “Show me.” _

_ Hwanwoong grabbed Youngjo from the back of his head, pulling him down, smashing their lips together, feeling sparks go off. Their lips moved against each other in synchronization, as they brought their bodies closer together, feeling the adrenaline run deep in their veins, hearts pounding faster with every second that passed.  _

_ Youngjo pulled Hwanwoong into his lap, as they pulled away for a second, gasping, but Youngjo pulled Hwanwoong back, resting his hands on Hwanwoong’s waist, feeling their breath build up, as Hwanwoong gasped in their kiss, trying, in any way, desperately, to get rid of every inch of space that was in between the both of them. _

_ All of those pent up emotions were now free, as they desperately tried to hold each other closer, tighter, not let go, not slip from the other’s grasp- _

_ They were on fire. Sparks lit up, fireworks blasted, explosions distantly blew up their love, spreading it all over the air.  _

_ It was stardust. _

_ Youngjo and Hwanwoong panted heavily, their breathing rapid, as their foreheads rested against one another, slowly pulling away, still lost under the heavy trance of their love. _

_ Hwanwoong’s downcast eyes slowly lifted themselves to meet Youngjo’s, in utter disbelief, tears falling lightly into his lap. _

_ “Is-is this really ...real?” Hwanwoong asked, his voice wavering the slightest, hoping that this was anything but a dream. _

_ Youngjo nodded against Hwanwoong, leaning forward, as both of them closed their eyes once more, feeling Youngjo brush his lips across Hwanwoong’s, before whispering delicately, softly, being sure to assure Hwanwoong that this was anything but a dream. _

_ “Yes, my love. This is real.” He smiled, those striates of pain now flicks of happiness, eyes swaying with Hwanwoong’s to the rhythm of their heartbeat. _

_ The rhythm of love. _

As Youngjo reappeared in the current moment, he met Hwanwoong’s eyes piercing into his own, flecks of green dancing in his eyes that seemed almost too distant to distinguish.

Youngjo lifted his glass of wine, taking a sip carefully, eyes never leaving Hwanwoong’s, even as the urge to blink seemed to overtake him. (Which it did.)

Slowly blinking his eyes, he set the glass back down, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back, not sure of what to do. It seemed as though he lost control over himself, his heart winning the mortal battle with his brain, that still protested-

As Youngjo walked over to where Hwanwoong was sitting, his limbs unable to control themselves, Hwanwoong’s eyes showed the slightest sign of panic, taking out money from his pocket.

With nimble hands, Hwanwoong placed two bills on the counter, jumping off of the stool (due to his height), then clutching at his wallet, shoving it in his pocket, as he fixed his jacket, walking towards the exit hastily, turning back to look at Youngjo one last time.

Youngjo stood by the stool where Hwanwoong was drinking, his eyes never leaving the younger’s.

Hwanwoong’s eyes flashed once more, as Youngjo jerked back, eyes wide, recognizing the emotion that lingered in the younger’s eyes.

The cold night air ushered Hwanwoong outside, the light of the moon guiding him, as Youngjo saw the last traces of him in the snow-filled air, Hwanwoong seemingly disappearing in the aphotic abyss of the night, swallowing him whole.

Youngjo could still see Hwanwoong’s eyes boring into his own, dancing to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The rhythm of fear.

* * *

“Did you know that man?” The bartender addressed Youngjo, who now took a seat on the stool, fixing the tie on his suit. 

Youngjo stared at the bartender, who continued wiping the counter, looking up from wiping for the slightest second.

Curious as to what the response would be.

Youngjo hummed for a second, nodding, as the loud music started to impact him. He thought back to how fearful Hwanwoong’s eyes were.

They were as fearful as the time when Hwanwoong had found Youngjo’s letters—back in high school.

Back when they were younger, barely any worries in the world, the real stress of the world barely brushing past them, not bothering to glance at the youngsters, waiting patiently for its time to pounce upon them.

“Really?” The bartender asked, raising an eyebrow, moving his wavy, luscious hair out of the way, using one of his strong, toned, arms.

Youngjo nodded, thanking the guy as he poured Youngjo a drink, seeing drops of red wine jump as the bartender brought the bottle down, then closing the bottle. 

“Used to,” Youngjo said, after taking a long sip, studying the wine that swirled in the depths of its own blood red cavern. He sighed heavily, looking at the bartender. 

“We were ex-lovers,” Youngjo spoke with much difficulty, the words finally tumbling out of his lips. 

The bartender nodded, silent, as he rolled up his white sleeves, letting the words sink into his own and Youngjo’s minds.

It had been ten years, and it still pained Youngjo to call them previous lovers. 

Every time he thought of it, he’d fall into another land, one filled with memories of the days they fully devoted themselves to one another.

Doing anything and everything.

Playful fights, coming home late, seeing the other waiting, with tired, sleepy eyes, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, to helping the other study for a hard test, stealing the other’s food, to sleeping together, tangled up in one another, even after a fight with harsh tones and cruel words.

Because in the end, Youngjo knew.

They had truly loved each other.

* * *

“Gunhak,” The bartender said after a while, snapping Youngjo out of his thoughts, causing him to look up. 

Youngjo looked around. 

The bar was no longer noisy. It was quiet. Serene. There was no more music blaring anymore, no more people yelling and screaming, laughing and talking loudly.

It was just Youngjo. 

“Pardon?” Youngjo asked, clearly confused by what the bartender had just said, looking into the bartender’s soft, but fearless eyes.

The bartender held out his hand for Youngjo to shake.

“The name’s Gunhak.” He paused, as Youngjo slowly reached out his hand to shake Gunhak’s.   
“Kim Gunhak.”   
Youngjo nodded, lightly, his heart heavy of burdens that dared not to escape past his lips.

“Youngjo.” He paused, looking up at the other. “Kim Youngjo.” 

They shared a firm handshake for a few seconds, as Youngjo felt how rough and calloused Gunhak’s tan hands were after a long day at work.

“You know,” Gunhak said, as he then went to sort the glasses on a light brown wooden rack, turning every other minute to face Youngjo, “Hwanwoong likes this bar. He comes here often.”   
He paused, walking over towards Youngjo, wiping a glass with a rag in his hand. Youngjo noted how quick he managed to clean so well.

“And he’s been a customer for a  _ long  _ time, Mister ...Youngjo.” He said, turning back to the rack, as Youngjo watched his muscles move through the shirt. 

He was well-built.

“But, I’ll have you know, that most nights, Hwanwoong doesn’t drink.” He said, pressing a pedal with his foot, as that opened the garbage can, letting a glass slip from his hand into the trash can, landing with a loud noise that echoed through the empty bar.

Light brown timbs.

Youngjo noted that he wore nice shoes.

“In fact,” Gunhak said, taking another rag to wipe down another part of the counter, “Hwanwoong  _ barely  _ drinks.” 

Youngjo stared at his reflection in the marble counter, reaching out to tap his nose on the counter.

He looked tired.

Eyes soft, half-closing, his lips automatically tugged downwards in a frown, as his eyebrows were furrowed in worry.

Looking around, Youngjo thought about that, remembering all the times he would wake up hungover to seeing Hwanwoong taking care of him on nights he had drank too much. 

“He drinks now? Why are you telling me?” Youngjo asked, as Gunhak looked back at Youngjo, then going back to wiping the counter.

Youngjo saw a few people, scattered, here and there, sadly sipping their drinks. This hour was quiet. It was silent, grieving with those who were having a hard time, who could not see the light of the dawn after long days and longer nights.

“Because about three months ago, he started drinking regularly.” Gunhak stopped, letting that statement make its way to Youngjo, as realization hit him.

Three months ago, he had seen Hwanwoong for the first time in  _ ages _ .

Today, he saw Hwanwoong for the second time after their breakup.

“Hm.” Youngjo shrugged his shoulders, lifting the drink up to his lips, finishing it, as he set the glass down harshly, closing his eyes tightly, before getting off of the stool.

He was too drunk to keep to himself. He wanted to mourn out loud, to cry, to sob, as his heart  _ yearned  _ for the younger.   
It always did.

Gunhak sighed, watching Youngjo as he paid for his drinks, stepping out into the empty night sky, letting the snow pull him out into the cold air.

The door closed.

Youngjo walked off.

Alone.

* * *

Hwanwoong hated rainy days.

The sky was gloomy, time slowed down, the atmosphere made him drowsy, anger itching underneath his skin.

Alas, here he was, throwing turns and leaps into the air, trying to think of something that would satisfy his company, something that would “fit the image” of the artist he was working with.

But as the hours ticked by, cups of coffee were tossed into the trash that made a tower large enough to hold an empire in them, it only led to more frustration.

Sighing, Hwanwoong harshly tugged on his hair, falling into a chair, spinning around in his black leather chair, kicking his feet around in the air for a while, screaming quietly in a whisper. When his legs got exhausted from all that kicking, he groaned, slumping down in the chair, his legs finally touching the ground, practically falling off the chair. Regaining his breath he whined, pouting, trying his best to blink away the hot tears that were forming in his eyes.

“Fuck,” He whispered, closing his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his chapped lips.

Through blurred vision, he mindlessly flipped through used pages and notebooks of paper, vicious scribbles and angry lines drawn across hours of effort and hard work.

Tears fell on the papers, rippling across his dance notes, making the dark ink now faint, as the tips of his ears now stung, turning a deep shade of cherry red. The tip of his nose was now tinted a light pink, as Hwanwoong took off his golden-rimmed glasses, setting them down on the tear-stained papers.

Placing his head in his hands, he muttered a long string of curse words, rooted deeply in pure frustration.

An idea popped into his brain as an imaginary lightbulb lit above his head.

Suddenly, Hwanwoong wheeled his chair to the other end of his long, black, wooden table, one that grew up with the memories of his passion for music engraved in it.

Smiling, those feelings of anger immediately gone, he brought out a painting from underneath the table—one he had kept hidden from the world. The painting had nothing but a simple design on the front, the cover almost seeming like a raw photo itself.

A young boy was sitting on a bench near the ocean. It was nighttime, as the ocean held a mirror for the world to see the moon in itself, a cup of coffee accompanying the lonely boy, as he stared off at the ocean, lost in his addicting thoughts.

The city lights helped reveal the manner the boy was sitting in, the back of his body being the only part that was revealed.

A long, black trench coat shrouded his body, the straps of a black mask resting behind his ears, his amber highlights peeking out from underneath his black cap. 

_ Twilight,  _ read cursive, silver letters on the top of the cover, dancing atop the stars.

On the bottom, as though it were drowning, with no one to save, in small, cursive silver letters, it read:  _ Ravn. _

Eyes deep in the depths of the ocean, the lonely boy was sitting across, one could almost hear the conversation the young boy was having with the stars as they danced in his eyes. Hwanwoong studies the painting, eyes glittering in awe.

How dearly Hwanwoong wished to be able to express art in the same manner Ravn did; it was simply idolizing. 

And soon enough, as the heavy entracing spell of the painting had worn off, the magical feeling fading. Hwanwoong turned back to his precluding papers, deciding that it would be a good idea to buy another portrait that would add more liveliness to his gloomy room. 

He plucked a black cap that he had gotten from an old festival, plopping it on his head as he slipped a dark blue bomber jacket, grabbing a transparent umbrella that was lying around the studio, it had been used by another producer who had visited Hwanwoong’s studio just the day before.

It  _ had  _ gotten pretty rainy these days.

Grumbling, Hwanwoong slipped into his black converse sneakers, snagging his keys off of another pile of insignificant papers.

Closing the lights, the door closed with a loud bang that startled Hwanwoong(which only added onto his annoyance).

As Hwanwoong entered the outside world, the murky sky welcomed him, throwing harsh, bitter, droplets of nothing more than a slight drizzle on him, as he hastily opened his umbrella, walking quickly through the sprinkle of rain.

A large cloud of condensation embraced the city, making the once bright lights barely miserable, a gloomy mood settling in the air, as Hwanwoong sniveled.

“And  _ this  _ is why I hate the rain,” He muttered to himself, picking up his pace.

The night had not arrived, but the dark clouds lingering in the sky soon meant otherwise.

As Hwanwoong now half-ran through the streets, the light drizzle soon transformed into a monstrously thunderous storm that roared in the sky, streaks of light occasionally dashing across the sky. Nearing his destination, emerging from the depths of the fog, there stood something, the one and only thing causing Hwanwoong to stop and look over; the one thing that could truly attract him through all this gloominess.

A coffee shop.

“It wouldn’t hurt to stop for another cup…” Hwanwoong muttered, his love for coffee creeping across his lips with a smile, as he opened the glass door, the doorbells jingling, letting the people know.

Another customer had arrived, with his love for coffee.

* * *

Youngjo hated coffee. He prefered painting.

Paintings kept him up. It kept him jittery at the peak of a climax, as his eyes hungrily took in the colors that consecutively laid made by the aged paintbrush that lurked in between his fingertips. 

Painting kept him going through the hardest days, through the hardest nights, through times where he wanted to end  _ everything _ . Painting swirled him forth unto lands of endless imaginations, with unlimited possibilities, where Youngjo…was a  _ part  _ of something.

All his life, Youngjo had always felt excluded. He had felt excluded even with his family, his classmates, his friends, and one day…he had been excluded from his dearest lover’s life. For Youngjo was nothing more than a mere outsider, one only meant to watch, to take it all in, every single emotion, like….like….

Ah, right.

Monachopsis. The feeling of monachopsis heavily dragged him, only making him feel more horrid everywhere he went, making the air around him more difficult to breathe in.

He was simply there to be trampled over, to be silenced, constantly reminded of how insignificant he was in the end, that he didn’t matter, that he had nothing else to do but watch. To stare. To look, and let the sight of others torture him; slowly burn him away, leaving him with scattering ashes.

At one point, Youngjo  _ despised _ everything, screaming, crying at the cream-colored walls in his room that blankly stared back at his questioning state. Why  _ him _ ? Why did life have to be so cruel to him?   
But then, Youngjo’s ingrown wings sprouted, and like a moth, he was able to fly. (Not a  _ butterfly _ , for its change is one that everyone wows at, a change that is noticeably bright and happy. Rather, Youngjo matured quietly, over the past decade, especially after not being able to see Hwanwoong, the man who he had loved so dearly, even after toska afflicted upon his heart so deeply.)

For the change that Youngjo had undergone was after being left by the one he had given his everything to, devotedly caring for the other with every inch in his heart, throwing everything else away-    
Now, he realized that he treasured what he had for granted into consideration. When times got hard, he held onto what he had, letting go of things he didn’t(or couldn’t) have. He held onto the memories of happier times, letting those nostalgic feelings linger, slowly turning those into bits and pieces of happiness.

It wasn’t inaccurate to state that time was one of his finest instructors, along with many other aspects that had appeared through his life.

When his path got befuddling, he didn’t try to encounter every path at once. He slowed down, considering each path that vexed him. He did not allow anger to overcome him. It was as though there was a black hole in him.

No matter how much anger was thrown at him, that void swallowed it all. All of his anger was just attracting, seeping into the unknown depths of that black hole, going to a place where no one had ever, or could ever find. Not even Youngjo.

But, do not misinterpret this description. Youngjo  _ did  _ get upset, or frustrated at times, of course he did. He was  _ human. _

But it was  _ extremely  _ rare to see Youngjo upset, or snap back, or frustrated in any sort of manner at all.It’s kind of fascinating, when one thinks about that.

But when seen that he  _ was _ in a state of such anger, one would not want to be around him, for that kind of aura would disappear to that unknown place, one where not the slightest traces of it stayed around.

* * *

“Did you hear?” Youngjo heard a girl tell someone over the phone excitedly as she entered the store, closing her umbrella, trying to regain her breath from the heavy storm that roamed the city. She smiled, fixing the phone that she held, adjusting her jacket.

Walking inside, she hung her umbrella on a rack that stood by the door, bronze and tall, its arms strong and convenient.

The cozy store welcomed her with the smell of vanilla and lavender embracing the air around it, as the girl squealed, making Youngjo’s eyes widen in concern.

“Ravn...might release a new painting! Oh my God! Just kill me, Ravn!” She yelled, losing herself in the many shelves, her voice echoing through the tranquil store.

Youngjo sighed, shaking his head, trying to contain himself from saying anything that might ban him from humans in general. 

A sense of vellichor overcame Youngjo, a nostalgic, odd, feeling growing on the rainy day; seemingly adding more to the gloomy weather outside, as he brushed that away, focusing on his work.

However, at the same time, he tried hard not to smile, looking down, clearing his throat, letting time pass as the girl continued looking for various paintings.

_ What an...eager fangirl,  _ he thought to himself, as the girl walked to the counter, holding the phone (although it seemed more as though she was propping the phone) in between her shoulder and ear, struggling to carry five large, thick-framed, paintings in her hands, threatening to topple over at any second.

Throwing them on the light brown counter, she sighed in relief, dusting her hands, still talking on the phone, as another squeal erupted from her mouth, as she spoke to them, saying that she would talk at another time. Hanging up, she smiled brightly at Youngjo.

Youngjo tried his best to not ask the girl whether she needed help with her brain or not. The girl smiled once more at Youngjo, who awkwardly laughed, a frozen smile slowly forming, as a few more people trickled in the store.

Youngjo scanned the paintings, along with a few sketch books, as she paid with her card, more squeals erupting, causing him to flinch every here and then, eventually dropping one of the paintings.

“Ah, sorry!” Youngjo exclaimed, embarrassed, as the girl shook her head, smiling even brighter. (Which Youngjo didn’t know was actually possible.) “No problem!”

Youngjo desperately wanted to go home.

“Your total is ninety-o-three,” Youngjo told the customer, as she pointed towards the card that was hiding behind a pile of books.

“Oh, oop, sorry,” Youngjo muttered again, rubbing his nape, as the girl shook her head, waving it off in a friendly manner. Politely, Youngjo smiled, trying hard to avoid the girl’s intense stare matching her lopsided smile. “Alright,” He said, pausing, giving her back the card. 

Eagerly, the girl took the bag filled with paintings and books, gleeful, as she thanked him.

“Wow, I can’t wait to hang them!” She exclaimed, hugging the bag to her chest, as Youngjo smiled softly, crossing his hands across his chest, leaning on the dark oak counter.

“You like Ravn’s paintings?” He asked, as she smiled, moving to the side, letting the boy behind her step up in line, as Youngjo continued interacting with the girl, while taking the boy’s book, scanning it-

“Of course! Who wouldn’t! You know, his—I mean  _ their _ paintings are amazing! And then those small writings attached to them” She stopped for a second, sighing. “It’s too bad that Ravn is an anonymous painter, otherwise I’d  _ love  _ to meet him— _ them _ !” She squealed once again, jumping for a slight second, as Youngjo chuckled, putting the book in a bag, leaning over the counter just the slightest bit, handing the boy the bag, looking at him.

“Your total is five ninty-five,” He told the boy, who nodded, taking out money from his pocket, handing it to Youngjo, who mouthed a  _ thank you _ , opening the register.

“You know,” Youngjo said to the girl, putting the bills in the register, taking out coins, “I’m actually good friends with Ravn,” He said, handing the boy a few coins, who had wide eyes at Youngjo’s words. Nonetheless, he still headed out, exiting the store.

“Have a nice day, sir! Please come back!” He said, as the boy nodded, smiling the smallest bit, as Youngjo turned back to the girl, chuckling at her agape expression. 

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ve known each other since before he started painting, so we’re pretty good friends. I mean, if you want, I could send him a message-”

“ _ Yes _ ! Oh my holy mother  _ yes _ !” The girl screamed, jumping up and down, laughing, her face lighting up. “He’s inspired me so much! I actually started drawing because of him!” She blurted, hugging her bag even tighter, taking out one of the paintings.

“Really now?” Youngjo asked, the corner of his lips tugging upwards into a smile, as she showed Youngjo the painting.

Youngjo’s genuine smile dropped, eyes being brought back to memories of times that seemed to occur as though it were centuries ago.

A young boy stood in the middle of pure white snow, covering him like a blanket. Cherry blossom trees obediently stood on the side of the clear, empty road. The boy wore a light brown trench coat, reaching his knees. Once again, his back was the only part of him revealed, hands in the air, embracing the snow. The boy’s hair dancing atop his head, blonde, coarse and beautiful. It was glorious. Along with that, it was made evident that the boy was smiling, laughing wildly, a small portion of his blurry face with his lips curved upwards.

In the midst of the stripped winter trees, bouncing along the clouds of the morning sky, rested the title in scripted, gray letters.

_ A Song Written Easily. _

Along the snow-filled streets, on top of an insignificant pile of snow, laid the author’s name, in small, black, cursive letters.

_ Ravn. _

Youngjo felt an arm being thrown around his shoulders abruptly, causing his eyes to rip off of the cover, looking over at his two friends who scared him, as they were laughing. 

Youngjo removed one of his friends’ arms around his shoulders, handing the girl her book, moving back slightly, as the girl looked down at her watch.

“It was nice meeting you, Mister….” She trailed off, as Youngjo turned back to her, his eyes tired, as he smiled, a small smile.

“Kim.”   
“Ah,” She spoke, nodding. “I will come here again, for sure! Your paintings and books are priced generously, and… _ you know Ravn _ !” She squealed once again, as she bowed, waving, running out the door, forgetting her umbrella.

“Miss!” Youngjo ran after her, eyes wide. “Miss!”

He ran out, bumping into another person in the doorway, who was struggling with his umbrella.

“Ah, shit! Fuck, I’m so-” The person stopped, looking up at Youngjo, eyes wide, his lips parted slightly, his umbrella in his hands. 

_ No,  _ Ravn thought to himself, feeling his heart pound faster, palms sweating.  _ You can’t let this affect you. Remember, you need to forget him. _

His eyes desperately hardened.

_ You must not let your emotions- _

Ravn looked over at his two friends who stared at him, eyes wide as well.

_ Forget him,  _ He commanded himself once more, a stern expression taking over his face, along with his tone.

“Keonhee, Dongju, what are you staring at? There’s work here. A new delivery of new books came, and they need to be labeled with barcodes. Now leave.” He said, no trace of any sort of emotion in his voice, as he walked over behind the counter, face blank, in an attempt to cover up any emotion he had left.

He struggled—it was getting harder. His lingering feelings tugged at his heart, reminding him, he still  _ cared,  _ no matter how hard he tried, he’d still  _ remember _ , this wasn’t something he could ever avoid-    
Keonhee and Dongju stared off for a while, before breaking out into motion, hastily moving to get something done.

Dongju went off to the box of books as Keonhee opened another register, seeing a small river of more customers walk in, closing their umbrellas, light chatter here and there.

Youngjo’s shop normally did extremely well. He always had Ravn’s paintings, before every other art store, even before the pre-orders, which surprised  _ everyone.  _ Along with that, they were _ signed  _ editions, so Youngjo was always able to live with more than enough cushion money, saving that for rare moments, when he’d get tight on money.

“Fifteen percent off for all items, a dollar off for new customers, keep that in mind, Keonhee,” Youngjo muttered, as Dongju looked over worriedly, nodding. He wanted to ask if Youngjo was okay, but he knew that what Youngjo was doing was for the better, that he  _ understood _ what was happening in the moment-

A cup of coffee rested in Hwanwoong’s hand, as he quickly walked to the sketchbook section, panic screaming in his eyes. He wished that there was another art/book store in this area, but alas-

He scanned through the books that sat there, looking for the perfect one, trying to focus, to concentrate, to  _ ignore  _ the fact that this shop belonged to the man who had claimed to know him, as his eyes unintentionally landed upon what seemed like heaven, halting all of those thoughts.

_ Perfect!  _ Hwanwoong thought as he skimmed the pages, the reflection of the baby blue cover pouncing in his eyes. Looking at the price tag, he sighed in relief.

“Eight dollars. Thank God.” Hongjoong said, skimming through the pages once more, walking up to the counter Keonhee was standing behind. He tried to avoid Keonhee’s intense stare, as each step became heavier, as though he were drowning in quicksand.

“Um, this is it,” Hwanwoong said, handing the book to Keonhee, who walked away, going to Dongju.   
“Register closed.” He sneered, taking a book from one of the piles Dongju had set up, pretending to work.

Sighing, Hwanwoong hesitantly walked over to Youngjo’s register, handing him the book. 

“Is that all?” Youngjo asked, putting the book in a white shopping bag, glancing at Hwanwoong, who simply nodded.

“Five eighty, please,” Youngjo said, as Hwanwoong stiffened, rage burning through his veins. Was this guy  _ seriously _ going to act like this?

“Listen here,  _ you. _ ” Hwanwoong hissed, glaring up at Youngjo.

Keonhee and Dongju both started to step forward, but they stopped, seeing Youngjo’s hand from beneath the counter, holding up his hand to halt the both of them, as he sent a look in their direction, then turning back to Hwanwoong.

_ I know what I’m doing. _

Keonhee and Dongju both stood there, as Keonhee’s jaw tightened. Dongju sighed, shaking his head, as Hwanwoong continued to spit words of venom, letting them sink in Youngjo’s heart.

“I don’t give a flying  _ fuck  _ about how about how the hell we knew each other, okay?” He shook his head, slamming his down hand on the counter, not making a sound.

“But what I  _ do  _ know, is that I can’t dilly dally around here, trying to remember you.” He swallowed back tears of anger, the lump in his throat getting bigger, blinking hard. “I wouldn’t want to, either. I can’t shit around and mope for someone whose as _ fucking  _ annoying as you are!” He yelled, his hands clenching into tight fists. 

“So giving me these stupid  _ discounts  _ won’t make me remember you, okay?” He asked through clenched teeth, sighing.

A heavy coat of silence draped itself around the room, as the lights threw dark shadows underneath Hwanwoong’s tired eyes. For a while, Youngjo simply stared at Hwanwoong.

He couldn’t do this to Hwanwoong. He couldn't reply back to the younger, clearly seeing his distraught state, how upset he was. He couldn’t forget the younger, but he couldn’t force the younger to remember him either. Youngjo nodded before softly speaking, grappling with emotions that threatened to release themselves.

“If you didn’t know, on the door, it says fifteen percent off for all books today, and one dollar off for new customers.” Youngjo spoke calmly, with a very warm tone, pointing towards the door.

Hwanwoong quietly gasped, although it was loud enough for Youngjo to hear, as Hwanwoong tried to stumble upon something to say.

Embarrassment ran through him, feeling the burning stare of Keonhee and Dongju pierce holes into his body, as he struggled to say something.  _ Anything.  _ To get rid of his guilt, his shame, to make him  _ not  _ feel like such an asshole. To just open his mouth, and utter words to break the heavy,  _ torturing  _ silence that only made things harder in this still moment-

Before he could, Youngjo took four dollars out of the ten that Hwanwoong had placed on the desk when handing him the book, placing a few coins on top of the dollar he hadn’t taken, smiling, the stern act now washed away.

“It’s fine. Rainy days were never your days anyways,” Youngjo said, handing Hwanwoong the money and the book, which was neatly placed in a paper bag.

“This son of a bitch never apologized.” Hwanwoong heard Dongju mutter under his breath, as he struggled to make even the slightest sound, or move the slightest bit. The words wounded his heart, as he shakily inhaled, trying to get his emotions under control-

Not meeting Youngjo’s eyes, he took the book and the money, turning to leave, tears pricking his eyes. As he stood by the door, he turned around, eyes still glued to the ground, struggling with words that he wanted to utter, to break the heavy silence that drowned.   
“I-I’m trying to remember. Really.” He bit his lip, glancing up at Youngjo’s, who had his soft gaze fixed upon him, patiently waiting. “And uh-I’m sorry,” He muttered, he opened his umbrella, letting it shield him from the heavy rain, stepping out of the store.

Hwanwoong missed Youngjo’s reaction, not turning back at all, running into the rain.

Back in the store, a warm feeling spread from Youngjo’s heart to his lips, a genuine smile resting upon his face after a long time. 


	2. Memory-filled nights to Sparrows and Cherry Blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! The second and last chapter!  
> I hope you’ve all enjoyed it so far! It was really fun to write!  
> Happy reading!

The summer days passed by in utter heat, and Hwanwoong _resented_ that whole season of calefaction.

Hwanwoong preferred the season of bright lights singing along with the Christmas carols, of joy, cold red noses sniffling from the chilly air outside, eager to come home for feasts that made, immediately feeling warm on the inside, ready to finish the year as a whole, to tie up any loose ends, as the soft snow blessed all of those who enjoyed it with its presence. He preferred the season of the crisp air biting into your skin, as people rush into coffee shops, their breath whispering into the air around them visibly, hands rubbed together to create some sort of warmth. 

The season of winter. (Maybe it was mostly the month of December that he honored in general, but he still preferred colder weather.)

Nevertheless, Hwanwoong worked all summer, through the utter heat, coiling through every pit in his body, every scale of skin that lies there, killing himself, trying to come up with a new choreo for his company to enjoy.

But nothing ever worked. Every new choreo he tried to create went down the drain, page after page, leap after turn.

On a sorrowful fall night, as Hwanwoong walked home after a long day at work, lost in the thoughts of his hardships, he tried to come up with a reason as to why his choreo wasn’t living up to its arduous demand.

As the dark streets were dimly lit through poorly-funded street lights, Hwanwoong sighed, tired after trying so hard to impress people who didn’t even bother to acknowledge his effort and hard work; his time put into countless songs, countless locks, stunts, and moves. Hours spent in front of his laptop, eyes burning, begging to be closed were ignored, only to meet the demand. Just for that _goddamn_ demand.

The moon bathed his path in a river of its light, also revealing his small figure that was adrift in his thoughts, mooning upon the worries of life.

Hwanwoong’s once slicked back hair was now a light blonde color, but it had now grown slightly, the ends of his hair kissing the back of his neck, as tiny golden hoops clung to his ears, more piercings vaguely decorating his ears, gleaming brightly under the faded lights.

His left eyebrow still had an “X” engraved in its arch, but his face didn’t hold the same stern look that appeared to be foreign. 

Rather, his face held weariness, utter exhaustion that made the heavy weight on his shoulders drag him down, making each step seemingly heavier in rue.

It was a clear, doleful night, a faint breeze accompanying the loneliness that seemed to hang around in the dark night.

Eyes half-closing, long sighs filled the cool, crisp air as Hwanwoong tried to step one foot after the other, drowning in quicksand that had trapped him in its empowering hold. The world spun, as Hwanwoong felt himself falling face-front on the stone-hard pavement, eyes closing in exhaustion.

But he did not hit the ground; he had a savior. 

He always did. (He was just never fully aware of it.) 

For his hero, his savior, came in the form of a strong pair of arms pulling him away from the quicksand that seemed to swallow him whole. 

* * *

The cool night breeze danced along with the flecks of joy in Youngjo’s eyes. Fall was his most admired time of the year.

It was simply _illecebrous,_ absolutely _enticing._ One could only marvel upon how attractive this night itself was.

Youngjo closed his eyes slightly, inhaling the crisp smell of the leaves as his ears embraced the psithurism in the air. It almost sounded like the wind carefully soothed the leaves, bestowing the trees with a ravishing message that the leaves could not understand yet. 

For _this_ beauty was one that was nocturnal, avoiding the daylight at all costs.

The leaves whirled across the melodies of the scattered bushes, as the trees swayed to the rhythm, erupting choirs of the fauve leaves that lay there, burning shades of too many colors to name, listening to the songs the wise wind sang.

Youngjo wore a light brown trench coat, wearing a baby pink wool sweater he hadn’t worn since the year before, along with black skinny jeans that loosely hugged his legs.

Black leather trench shoes finished off his look quite nicely, as he had dyed his hair a light blonde shade, which completely changed his aura, softening some of his chiseled features (although it still gave Youngjo a stern look, only if he had his hair gelled back or styled properly).

He stopped, looking at the man he had never stopped loving, as unforgotten feelings returned back in his heart, never missing a beat, as his heart began to pound faster, feeling his breath slightly quicken. Suadade took over Youngjo, as he longed to be near the younger once again, wanting to approach him, to ask him how he’d been doing, a state of melancholic nostalgia returning to his heart. He desperately wished to experience the feeling of holding the other, his small body fitting perfectly into his own, conforming his shape-

He saw Hwanwoong’s head was down, as he took slow, steady steps, his body swinging like a pendulum, as his legs visibly trembled. Youngjo squinted a bit closer, trying to see through the dark edges of the night, walking a few steps closer, breaking out into a light jog, eyebrows furrowed together.

There was so much melancholy hanging around the atmosphere of the younger, so much _sadness,_ it was almost as though the only thing missing was the sound of someone sobbing, a voice to truly capture the feeling surrounding the younger-

He was about to say something when Hwanwoong’s knees buckled, as he began to collapse, a small breath whizzing past his lips, as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Immediately, as if it were a reflex, Youngjo panicked, dashing to the younger, as he got a sudden firm hold on Hwanwoong’s thin arms, as he then gently placed an arm underneath his legs, lifting him up, looking down at Hwanwoong, inspecting his face, that seemed to radiate in the beacon of the moonlight. 

As a sigh of worry escaped his lips, Youngjo looked down once more at Hongjoong with wistful eyes, trying to make sense of the situation at hand, the moon patiently waiting for them, willingly guiding the way.

* * *

A mere crush is nothing to worry about. 

It can only disturb those who have still not grown out of their phase of youth, still immature. A mere crush is simply nothing more than a handful of unfledged feelings that make you attracted to one’s _face_ , nothing but their _physical_ features…

The outer shell that their soul waits in patiently, waiting to be loved, and cared for, that hides the insecurities lying deep in the heart, afraid to be confronted. It is the _carapace_ that is judged without consideration, and determined to be the most beautiful thing to exist, without much thought, without much processing, without much looking, simply pronounced by a glance of ignorance.

Eventually, the crush carries itself away, flying off without any insignificant memories you’ve had.

That is not how things occur when it comes to the matters of love.

For love is something different, something…intense, something surreal.

It is a wave of extreme feelings, as admiration delicately whispers to any feelings of refusal, overtaking everything. 

Love is something that seems dreamlike…almost fake. It lures you in, the selfish side of your heart giving in to this illusory magnificence, that you can’t help but follow along, like a puppet on strings. It makes one fall into a sense of euphoria, that happiness so reassuring, that the heart doesn’t bother to stop and ask the mind of whether this is all reality, or an illusion, that repeatedly tortures one.

Love turns your dream into something that rips your heart open with delicate, frail hands, brutally exposing your darkest desires, hungrily, greedily ripping apart every piece, until there is not one fragment of your heart that is not microscopic.

It makes you fall into a deep, endless dream, one that is impossible to escape. (Not that you'd want to.) One that has no exit, no end, for the beginning was determined by the one who chose this fate.

It pulls you into a trance of their beauty, never failing to have you stare in awe, under an irreversible spell, so strong, so powerful, that no magician, no wizard, no genius, no conjurer, no genie, or warlock in the world can solve this incantation, this hex (though many have attempted to).

It makes you chase after the one you desire so longingly for, even if you don’t realize they’ve had you swaying side to side the whole time, wavering, lost in the hum of an enchanter, one too powerful to conquer.

It traps you in a land of fast, thumping heartbeats, yet slow, steady developments. Ones that are torturously slow, devoted, pious. But still, it’s enchanting. Almost pleasurable, in a manner, if you think about it.

It’s like the feeling of chasing after your dreams, even if you’ll never achieve them, or like having to study for an important test that will occur the next day, but rather, you sit and waste time, or like staying out later than your curfew, aware of the fact that you’d get in so much trouble that you wouldn’t see the outside world for three weeks. One could also describe it as talking back to a guardian in an argument, knowing that you’d get in trouble, but you still want to get your point across, because oh _god,_ those words are so _tempting_ to spill past your lips-

Rarely, it occurs in a different manner. Sometimes, you’ll find yourself unwillingly stumbling in the mere ashes of your burnt heart, unaware of how things turned things out this way.

But even then, in that clueless position, it all would still have been rewarding.

Even at that uttermost moment laced with risk. 

* * *

Youngjo stared at Hwanwoong, wondering how it was _humanly_ possible for a person to look so angelic, even when battling with himself on the brink of consciousness and unconsciousness. 

His eyes were puffy, he had chapped lips, that were slightly parted, and his hair was all over the place, messy; his hair unkempt and greasy, strands loosely fraying all over. He was in such a straggly state, it was shocking. For the first time, since Youngjo had seen the “new” Hwanwoong, he had finally seen Hwanwoong wrinkled, sweater, his messy pants, his tear-stained cheeks, and hands filled with paper cuts and bruised from spending too many hours producing, composing, and writing alone in the studio. He looked _incredibly_ grungy (the idea of that itself was so foreign to the older).

And yet Youngjo still couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked so fucking _radiant_ . Was he even _human_?

“Hwanwoong…” Youngjo whispered, tears piling in his eyes, his heart aching at the sight of someone he treasured in such an unfortunate state. Worn out. So, so horribly.

Melancholy was etched all over his face—it was practically _engraved_ in his deep frown, wrinkles in discomfort affixed on his face, and around his mouth. His skin was extremely pale, as though someone had drained all his blood from him. The white sweater he was wearing had clots of brown stains of coffee, his jeans littered with pen marks that were made at unknown moments (most likely drawn out of frustration). His brown hair still had a pen behind his ear. Slowly removing the pen, he slipped it into his pocket.

As Youngjo started to walk amongst the dark streets, he slowly swayed Hwanwoong’s body, trying to get him to wake up a bit. A whimper escaped his mouth as the younger’s eyes fluttered open, his body getting hotter by the passing second, which greatly concerned the older. (This was most likely what seemed to be a fever, but the older wasn’t too sure of it himself.)

“Hwanwoong, should I take you to the hospital?” Youngjo stammered, as Hwanwoong shook his head, whispered a barely audible address, causing Youngjo’s eyes to widen.

“He still lives there?” Youngjo asked himself, as he picked up his pace to hurry to Hwanwoong’s house, knowing his way well, not allowing his memory to fail him. Thankfully, the journey was not too long, as the younger grew heavier as time passed. 

In front of Hwanwoong’s house, Youngjo searched his pockets, trying to find his house keys, until he stumbled across a realization. 

Hwanwoong never carried his house keys on him. He had never changed that habit—even after so much time had passed, the younger was still the same.

It finally hit Youngjo—the realization, he was here, in front of the youngers’ house—after all these years, this was really happening. He finally got to hold the younger in his arms, after so much aching, so much _longing_ -

Shaking out of his thoughts, the older crouched down, gently lifting up the flower pot, in an attempt to not disturb the single daisy (although it looked like it was seeing its last days), quickly grabbing the silver key. Inserting it into the keyhole, Youngjo not to make too much 

movement, in fear to hurt or disturb Hwanwoong in any manner.

Opening the lights, he set Hwanwoong’s delicate, small body on the sofa (he still had the same sofa). Rushing to the door, he locked it, walking back to Hwanwoong, past memories dwindling through his mind.

A sense of familiarity burnt his heart, but he snapped out of his thoughts to see whimpers escape Hwanwoong’s mouth, his body trembling. Had he truly let his fever get this bad, going back to his old habits of destroying himself over a small thing?

 _Oh shit…_ Youngjo thought to himself, bending down to touch Hwanwoong’s forehead with the back of his hand, eyes widening. 

“Hwanwoong, stay with me,” Youngjo spoke gently, shaking his shoulders, as Hwanwoong struggled to form words that stuck in his throat, unable to come out, to tell this person that he felt like he was dying, he didn’t want to hold on anymore, he was so _tired_ -

“I…” Hwanwoong whispered, tears pricking his eyes, falling down the sides of his face, his hot tears cool against his burning skin, running into his temple. Dysphoria settled in Hwanwoong’s unsettling heart, an unknown feeling clawing at his chest, one that was quite unexplainable…

One could describe it as an unknown ardor.

Youngjo rushed over with a cool towel, practically dropping it when he saw Hwanwoong cry. Hwanwoong crying was seldom. In their years of being together, it would be considered a miracle to see Hwanwoong reveal a more vulnerable side to him.

“Hwanwoong!” Youngjo panicked, running over, as Hwanwoong lifted his trembling hands to wipe away his tears. The older had a bottle of Benadryl in his hands, one that had been left on the kitchen counter, the lid half unscrewed. Youngjo brought it over, assuming the younger was contemplating over whether he should have taken it or not.

Immediately, Hwanwoong felt cool hands against his burning face, wiping away his tears, as a cool rag was placed on his forehead hearing a familiar voice soothe him, lulling him to quiet down.

“I...I…” Hwanwoong stopped, his chapped lips coming together, but the rest of his sentence was barely audible, feeling a flavorful liquid dance along his dry tongue, finding it hard to swallow the liquid.

Youngjo stared down in anguish, troubled over the younger’s physical and mental health.

How much time had passed since Hwanwoong had last had someone care for him in this manner? Soothingly whisper words kindly against his ear? Carry him with such delicacy, with such care? Rush to his house with such urgency, all for _his_ well-being?

“Hwanwoong, a nice bath will help reduce the fever, alright?” He heard the same voice speak, trying to see who it was. But he wasn’t wearing contacts, and he had forgotten his glasses in this house, on one of his desks, early in the morning, scattered in a bunch of papers, which had made the day even more frustrating.

Yet for some reason, familiarity pricked at his ears, _demanding_ him to remember.

“Hwanwoong, I’m going to pick you up, alright?” He heard, light shining on the voice as he recalled this person as the man who had claimed to know him, the bookstore owner.

The one with the kind, soft eyes; with a voice warm enough to embrace you itself, who stayed patient and quiet with Hwanwoong, even after _everything_ the younger had done.

So he nodded, feeling the same, familiar pair of arms pick him up. 

_Fuck,_ Hwanwoong thought, guilt and regret clouding him, tears building up behind his eyes once more.

No matter how much one may despise the younger in this situation, honestly, Hwanwoong was not a terrible person. He was not heartless, or cruel, as he may have appeared to be. Yeah, he was complicated, and he didn’t have many friends, but he was human too. He had feelings. He had a sense of what was right or wrong. And he _understood_ that what he had done was wrong. He truly did. 

_This man must be an angel, or some sort of celestial being to stay with me,_ He thought, as he let his tears fall, unintentionally, causing fear to increase in Youngjo’s heart. Rocking Hwanwoong back and forth lightly in his arms, he tried to soothe the younger as he walked up the stairs.

“Hwanwoong,” Youngjo hummed, trying to get his heavy tears to stop falling. Tears cascaded down Hwanwoong’s cheeks, as he turned his aching body to face Youngjo’s, burying his chest, who sighed, feeling his heart drop.

“Woongie, why are you crying?” He asked softly, his voice a feather against a breeze, as he set Hwanwoong down on his bed, looking for clothes to change him into, until he stumbled across a periwinkle silk nightgown. 

It was a partially difficult question to answer. It was difficult to tell this man about his troubles—life’s hardships, his loneliness, the burden of... _everything_ , continuously piling up on his heart- 

Bringing a towel, Youngjo’s took his clothes to the bathroom, setting his bath, as Hwanwoong could only wait, feeling his body being drained with every second that passed.

As the bath was being prepared, Youngjo’s drowned himself in questions of worry of the younger. 

_Was it pain? Anger? Could it have been that I was annoying him again and he was tired of me? You know what, it’s just the fever, and probably work,_ Youngjo thought to himself, as he brought a chair in the large bathroom, to set Hwanwoong down on.

He walked back to Youngjo, who was struggling to say something. What was he to say? How was he to express his remorse, his regret, his gratefulness? 

“Hwanwoong,” Youngjo whispered, putting his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder, feeling his burning body underneath his hand. Hwanwoong groaned, nodding in response, his eyes shut.

“I’m going to help you take a bath now, okay?” Youngjo spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hwanwoong felt his world stop, and the atmosphere grew still, as his heart jumped. 

A...bath? With a stranger that happened to be too kind, claiming to stay with him even after being rejected?

Hwanwoong’s eyes flickered open, wide and scared. Violently, he shook his head, trying to move away from Youngjo , who had pain seeping deep in his eyes, stepping away from the other, trying hard not to bring the boy in his embrace, his heart softening.

Frustration piled up underneath Youngjo’s emotions, his years of waiting, of living with tortured pain, that had no relief, no seeming end, no horizon in sight-

“Look Hwanwoong, please do this.” He sighed, scrubbing his face. “I’m doing this for you.” He pleased, being patient with Hongjoong, who finally spoke, shoving the words that he’d been wanting to say through his lips. The words that had attempted to slip through the deepest depths of his mind and escape-

“Why are…” Hwanwoong paused, his head pounding, his voice nothing but a frail murmur, trying his best not to break down all over again, his throat giving up on him. _Oh_ , he was so sick of crying.

Youngjo swore that his heart broke all over again, into millions of tiny, broken shards.

 _Stop being so fucking weak,_ Hwanwoong told himself, over and over again, all to no avail. He had burdened himself for way too long with feelings that he had brushed to the side, determined useless, but now they were reappearing. They were overcoming him, pulling him under a large riptide, drowning him, making it hard to breathe-

“Hwan-” Youngjo started, but Hwanwoong shook his head, swallowing the adamantine lump that was refusing to leave, blinking repetitively. 

“Please,” Hwanwoong whispered, feeling guilt eating away at the last bits of his heart. “You...but I’m-” Hwanwoong croaked the last few words out, opening his eyes, tears glittering, revealing diamonds with sharp edges of overflowing remorse. His eyes were downcast, feeling his life crumble more with every second that passed. 

“Woong, look at me,” Youngjo said, placing a finger beneath Hwanwoong’s chin, lifting it up the slightest bit. His touch was so _gentle,_ so _nurturing,_ as though Youngjo had just thrown his world away to come to the younger, but he didn’t care at all-

“I don’t even remember your _name,_ ” Hwanwoong tried to shout out, as it ended up being a faint soft cry.

Youngjo chuckled, bitterly smiling. “That’s okay.” He shook his head, laughing a bit more, as they sat in silence for a while.

Youngjo inhaled deeply. “Let's get you a bath, shall we?” He asked, picking up Hwanwoong again, who turned a deep shade of red, embarrassment taking over him-

“I-I can walk-” Hwanwoong faintly protested, only to be softly scolded by Youngjo, who shook his head, his grip firm, yet protective, sending sparks up the side of Hwanwoong’s body, running through his veins, an unknown feeling deja vu ran through his mind-

“No,” he muttered. “You have a fever, you could fall. And I don't want the incident that just occurred to happen again. If I wasn’t there, you probably would’ve had a bloody face, which _isn’t_ fine with me.” He said, walking into the bathroom with Hwanwoong, placing him gently on the chair that he was sitting on when he was waiting for the tub to fill up. 

Hwanwoong stared up at Youngjo with tortured eyes, staying like that, watching the older stare down at him in awe.

Bending down on one knee, in front of Hwanwoong, Youngjo delicately started to assist Hwanwoong in taking off his sweater, then his shirt, then his pants, stripping him bare with love, and care. So, _so_ delicately, as though Hwanwoong was a piece of glass—one wrong push or pull could have the fragile glass shatter into millions of deadly shards.

Hwanwoong moved away slightly, as Youngjo took that as a sign to turn around. Hwanwoong removed the last piece of clothing, struggling to step into the bathtub, as he finally made his way, sitting down, hugging his knees up to his chest.

There was a serene atmosphere settling in the particles that danced around them, the faint sound of a drop occasionally falling into the sea of water that rested in the bathtub attempting to break the silence every now and then-

“Hwanwoong?” Youngjo asked quietly. “Can I turn around now?” 

A small “mm-hmm” informed Youngjo that he could turn around.

As bubbles crowded around Hwanwoong, he shivered, cold sweat dripping off of his body. And just like that, Youngjo helped Hwanwoong wash his hair, weaving his fingers through Hwanwoong’s hair, the muscles in Youngjo’s fingers guiding his hands to the certain spots Hwanwoong enjoyed being massaged, memories falling all around him. As he continued massaging the younger, he stopped wherever and whenever Hwanwoong asked him to, letting his hands help comfort Hwanwoong’s sore muscles that ached so heavily. 

And for a while, when words could not comfort either one of them, they sat in silence, that balanced the emotions in the air, as a slight trembling cloud of love dared to allow itself in the atmosphere, letting the seconds melt into minutes, as time passed.

“Thank you,” Hwanwoong said, a robe wrapped around his body, as he stepped out of the tub, water dripping off of his body, plopping back into the deep blue abyss of water it originated from.

Youngjo stopped Hwanwoong, who looked up at him in confusion, until he felt most of his body weight being taken away.

“I can walk…” Hwanwoong protested once more, trying to remember the older’s name. It was right _there,_ on the tip of his tongue, running away from him, he _knew_ it-

“Youngjo,” The owner of the name spoke, crestfallen, as he smiled, speaking before Hwanwoong could. He felt guilt surge through him once more, looking up at the older, with apologetic words, trying to find the right words-

“It’s okay,” Youngjo spoke, re-adjusting his arm around the younger’s waist, supporting him as he walked.

* * *

Have you ever seen someone and despised them? 

Have you felt hatred grow deep in your roots, make your blood boil and burn, as you silence the threatening volcano in your heart that dares to erupt and destroy everything, resulting in scattered ashes, making you bite down on your tongue to refrain yourself from saying anything, the bitter taste of metal dragging along your throat?

Have you thrown words of hatred at them, not regretting a single word that came out of your mouth at that moment, enjoying the hurt that spreads on their face?

But…have you seen their reaction ever be something that goes _against_ your expectations? 

Have they ever been...patient? Silent, enduring, simply...abiding? 

Waiting with utter grace and beauty? 

Have they ever looked at you with eyes that scream and yell, drowning in pain? Heart crying in silence, sobs unable to endure?

Have you ever had that person that you despise, lift your body with delicacy and care? 

Have you had them look at your eyes as though you’ve just spent hours dancing amongst the stars?

Have you ever felt sparks of joy burst out while they hold you firm? 

Hold you in an embrace filled with love, despite how _much_ you’ve done them wrong, been mean to them, unfair, unjust?

Have you seen this love? 

Do you even know if love such as this _exists_? 

Are you aware of this love?

Love is not meant to be felt only. It is meant to be _seen_ , _heard_ , _tasted_ , and _withered_ upon. It is meant to spend _hours_ thought upon, decades _reminisced_ upon, smiles _wasted_ upon. It’s meant to be a yearn that can be heard from _miles_ away, touches felt from _decades_ ago, kisses felt deep from the _roots_ of your heart, scents _li_ _ngering_ through your mind. To be in love is to be living, breathing, memories with _every_ step taken.

Have you not felt fireworks erupt in your stomach when your body comes in contact with the one of whom you love? To feel your heart beat faster with a ghosting kiss? 

Have you felt a volcano erupt all along your body, with slow, loving, thrusts, as love is being made so gently?

Have you not heard anger threaten your voice, arguing viciously with your loved one, yelling at them to not hurt themselves? 

Have you not heard yourself going crazy, worried sick for the one you love so deeply? To have lividness overcome themselves, because they keep on doing the same _dangerous_ actions?

Have you not felt yourself staring into your loved ones’ eyes, finding yourself lost in an abyss of something that reflects too many emotions to decipher all in one simple attempt?

Have you not felt like breaking down, because their battle scars of life are simply one to marvel at, one to truly love, and treat tenderly?

Have you not felt yourself go weak with a simple glance from your loved one? Have you not fallen in love with every depth of their soul? 

Have you not fallen in love with their kindness that warmly embraces your soul?

 _That_ is love.

Love is _feeling_ their soul— _connecting_ with it—to an extent so deep that you yourself are not able to comprehend as to how this occurred. No one is. For this sort of magic is one that is quite unexplainable.

Souls stripped, hearts bare, skin to skin. 

Raw, painful love.

Love that _hurts_ at first, then slowly soothes the soul.

* * *

“Thank you,” Came the words from the tired male, the fever wearing him out faster than he thought would occur. Eyes closed, he leaned a bit more into Youngjo’s neck, their legs comfortably tangled in a knot that neither one would’ve minded staying stuck in.

One would describe the odd scene as cingulomania taking over—for both of them were in need of an embrace, and they only had each other in the current moment.

Youngjo chuckled, his voice booming through Hwanwoong’s body. “What happened to not liking me?” He asked, as the younger whined.

“Fine!” He huffed, attempting to turn away, as Youngjo chuckled once more, hugging Hwanwoong in place.

Hwanwoong pouted, as his body loosened itself under Youngjo’s grip, sighing deeply.

“Thank you. Really. Thank-” He started, stopping as Youngjo put a finger to his rosy lips, feeling sparks dance across his lips from where Youngjo’s finger had come in contact with, looking up at Youngjo.

Light brown, innocent eyes stared at the older’s gaze, small flickers of green jumping around in his eyes, making them seem more hazel. His hair was still in its early stages of growing itself—tiny hairs touched the back of his neck, his blonde hair fading out the smallest bits.

And his _lips_ . His goddamn lips were so _fucking_ attractive. So fucking attractive that it _hurt_ , as Youngjo craved the feeling of smashing his own lips onto Hwanwoong’s soft, delicate, lips, as sparks from the past burst between the two, as Youngjo imagined the past once more, coming in front of him-

“Y-Youngjo?” Hwanoong asked, eyes wide, filled with the pure look of conder, as the possibilities of what Youngjo thought about spread across his brain in the form of a wildfire, burning more rapid than ever.

Youngjo snapped out of his trance, blinking his eyes, his head jerking, as a gap began to fill itself in between his and Hwanoong’s bodies.

“Yeah-yeah.” He said, awkwardly chuckling, as Hwanwoong frowned. 

( _What was up with this sudden change?_ The younger wondered, eyebrows furrowing.)

Hwanwoong’s body _screamed_ at him to go back to being in Youngjo’s embrace, his safe haven, his sanity, his everlasting love, his embrace, that was filled with so much adoration-

“Here’s some medicine,” Youngjo muttered, turning back from the dark brown oak nightstand (one that Hwanwoong’s grandfather had previously owned), with two white, oval-shaped pills in one hand, as a glass of lukewarm water accompanied his second hand.

Thanking him, Hwanwoong consumed both pills, swallowing with much difficulty, (he never really enjoyed the whole idea of pills anyways), cringing as his nose scrunched.

Youngjo leaned back, as Hwanwoong reached over, placing the glass back as an excuse to return back to his original position with Youngjo, a smile unintentionally forming on his lips.

* * *

“You know,” Youngjo spoke, breaking the long moment of silence that had begun to take place, “Usually, when I’m not feeling well, or I’m sick, or in just any moment, I listen to music. It helps after a long day.” He said, as Hwanwoong looked up, seeing Youngjo pull out his phone from his back pocket, humming, as he scrolled through the artists’ channel on a music app.

“Really? What kind of music do you like?” He asked the older, curious, as Youngjo sighed in adoration, smiling. 

“Well, I prefer this _dancer_ , actually. He sings as well, and has his own official page as well. His covers are simply one to listen and watch in respect, you know?” He asked rhetorically, feeling joy take over his heart. “If I ever got to meet him, I would never stop ranting about how amazing and talented he is!” He exhaled, as Hwanwoong prodded his shoulder.

“Who is that dancer slash singer?” He whispered, as Youngjo lovingly looked down, booping Hwanwoong on the nose, who flinched.

“You.”

Hwanwoong felt his blood turn cold, as his heart almost stopped beating. “W-what?” He asked, as Youngjo burst out laughing, a hand over his mouth.

“I’m joking, you should’ve seen your face!” Youngjo said, clapping his hands, as he shook his head, exhaling.

Memories of Hwanwoong dancing in their college days reappeared in his mind, stuck in a studio, crying out from a cramp, or celebrating from a choreo performed well.

Some days, Youngjo would remember seeing frustration drawn all over Hwanwoong’s face. Others, he’d come back to find the younger with wide eyes, dancing happily in their living room, happy to have caught onto a move that _didn’t_ look like an absolute shit to him. Some days, he’d find Hwanwoong jumping with joy, or crying, in exhaustion. 

Towards the end of their relationships, he would come home, to find the younger asleep, sprawled across their couch, eyes puffy, even though his dancing seemed to be doing well. 

The smile on Youngjo’s face slowly melted into position, thoughts scattered as he continued, looking down at Hwanwoong.

“His name is Dachshund,” Youngjo spoke softly, eyes twinkling. “And his music is fucking amazing.” He whispered, smiling. 

Hwanwoong stared up at the older in silence, who brought Hwanwoong a bit closer, as he started to lightly hum to a song that Dachshund had sung.

(The choreo was a fine piece of art, not to mention.)

As the chorus arrived, Youngjo’s faint humming had turned into calming words, trickling like honey.

_I’m scared of a lot of things_

_I’m mad at me_

_I’m looking for you floundering in the remaining memories_

_I wish I can smile someday_

_Let me do it again_

_Because this is not the end_

_Who cares if I’m often swayed?_

_Because I’m standing with you_

Hwanwoong looked up at Youngjo, who was lost deep in the music, emotions seeping through his voice, as the younger stayed lost in a trance, ears hungry for more.

_Let me do it again_

_Because this is not the end_

_Who cares if I’m often swayed?_

_Because I’m standing with you_

* * *

Music speaks a language that connects our hearts—our souls. It is often the reason an emotion such as love is triggered. In fact, it is able to trigger any sort of emotion, as long as it has the right melody that is willing to cooperate with its lyrics.

Music speaks to us in a manner of awe that can change one’s thoughts, their emotions, all in an instant.

It can make you dance with the sights of being a better person for the days to come. 

It can make you fly with hopes as you soar through the air of possibilities of tomorrow and the day after, decorating your laugh with the beauty of joy, as sparkling honey drips down your throat. It sets your body free to interpret the music—the rhythm, the beat, the melody, filling you up, letting your unsettling feelings come to a rest, making your heavy heart lighter—turning your frowning lips upwards-

But then it takes your heart in its bare hands and wrenches it, stepping on the delicate pieces of agglomerate that your heart was crafted with, shattering it into tiny pieces, ones that easily slip through one’s fingers, pricking it, as drops of blood crowd in its cupped hand.

It leaves you to do nothing but sit for hours, intaking painful melodies, as hot water burns every inch of skin it cascades, making you re-vision their once happy memories that were sown deep into the lyrics of a song that was shared between you and your lover, who is long gone with the wind that seemed to pass by ages ago.

Memories carefully embroidered through time, making two souls connect. 

Memories that are not forgotten, but ones that are gone; forever unable to re-live.

* * *

_Youngjo was brought out of the land he was a part of as someone tapped him on the shoulder. Looking up from his book, he saw a young kid, who had a baby mullet, wearing a baggy grey t-shirt and loose camo pants, along with dirty white sneakers._

_“Can I...sit here?” The small boy spoke quietly, as Youngjo nodded, moving over on the green park bench, throwing his bag to his left side, as the young boy sat on the right._

_It was a cloudy afternoon, just like any other day._

_Except fate had decided to align two souls together, the stars ready to watch, to see how much these two beings could connect._

_After a while of silence, the mullet boy spoke. “I’m Hwanwoong.”_

_Youngjo looked up from his book, sitting straight. “I’m Youngjo,” He said, placing his bookmark in his book, closing it as he put it to the side. Inhaling deeply, he turned to face Hwanwoong. “How old are you, Hwanwoong?” Youngjo asked, curiosity wandering in his voice._

_“I’m twelve.”_

_Youngjo fought off a smile that formed on his lips. “You have to call me hyung.”_

_Hwanwoong looked up, eyes wide. “W-what do you mean?”_

_“I’m thirteen! So I’m older than you!”_

_Hwanwoong frowned. “I’m turning thirteen next month. I’m in eighth grade!” He proudly stated._

_Youngjo looked at him, eyes wide. “Me too! I’m in eighth grade!”_

_Him and Hwanwoong laughed, high-fiving each other._

_And just like that, the two boys became best friends, undoubtedly sharing a close bond that was cherishable._

_Until one day, they had graduated from middle school. They had gotten accepted into the same high schools, both boys sharing the same excitement. They couldn’t wait to go to high school together as well._

_But one day, over that summer, Youngjo kissed Hwanwoong._

_And Hwanwoong kissed him back, engrossed in the olders’ lips, breathing heavily, moans escaping his mouth, his hands weaving through Youngjo’s fluffy, brown hair, trying to get closer-_

_As a wave of fear pushed Hwanwoong away harshly, eyes wide, as he shook his head violently._

_“N-no. No, I-I-I can’t!” He stuttered, running away from that park bench, dropping memories._

_Feeling tears run down his cheeks, he ran faster, to get away._

_His first and only friendship was forever destroyed._

* * *

Fate sets you up on a trial with people you meet, seeing how your souls connect, to what extent your trial passes. To see how well a pair of people are able to do on a trial.

Some trials fail. 

Some end in tears, broken hearts, fingernails clawing into the deepest roots of the love they used to hold dear. 

Some end on notes that aren’t _particularly_ bad.

Some end up in utter madness, a desire to keep that person to yourself, the desire to never let go.

And some—some trials end in so much pain, so much longing, that fate...decides to have a retrial.

* * *

_A young, tall boy looked up from across the auditorium, eyes locking with Hwanwoong’s. He was standing, one leg leaning on the armrest of a chair, surrounded by a group of his friends._

_Jet black hair, ears pierced, a jean jacket accompanying his white shirt underneath and black jeans, along with his Timbs. He cocked an eyebrow as Hwanwoong’’s eyes widened._

_A light blush crept onto Hwanwoong’s face as he quickly turned away, heart racing. He fiddled with the oversized sleeves, his mustard sweater reaching just above his knees, lightly tapping his thighs, then drifting away with every step Hwanwoong took._

_He jumped as the bell rang, his round glasses bouncing on the bridge of his nose, as he rushed to his first period class—he didn’t want to be late for the first day of freshman year. Running through the hallways, he tried his best to not bump into-_

_Hwanwoong’s body slammed into the ground, his glasses flying off of his face as they clattered to the ground. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I won’t-” Hwanwoong started, looking up, stopping when he saw who it was._

_“I…” Hwanwoong trailed off, as Youngjo’s dark eyes pierced through his skin. Even a bulletproof vest would’ve penetrated with that intense of a stare._

_A friend started to step forward, towards Hwanwoong, as Youngjo held up his hand, stopping his friend. Instead, he pointed to where Hwanwoong’s glasses had fallen._

_“Dongju,” he said to the friend, who looked at him, confused. “Go get those glasses, the kid is practically blind without them.”_

_Dongju handed the glasses to Youngjo, who cleaned the lenses with the hem of his shirt, handing them back to Hwanwoong._

_“I-I...thank you.” Hwanwoong said in a tiny voice, reaching for the glasses, putting them back on his face. Youngjo nodded, walking past him._

_“Don’t mention it.”_

* * *

A retrial can’t always occur. It only happens in certain situations, under _extremely_ special circumstances.

And sometimes, fate gives a pair—one that was meant to soar—more than one trial. Those trials are very tricky.

Because almost anyone can pass, and anyone can fail. 

These trials test the human heart’s compass, seeing what its final direction is, where it finally lands. Where it is able to find it’s safe haven.

But it also sees the things that can cause a change in heart.

Things such as dedication. 

Things such as a friendship blossoming into love as the flowers sing into the spring breeze.

* * *

_“Finally,” Hwanwoong whispered to himself, falling on the fluffy mattress of his bed, plopping onto the orange comforter._

_He had passed the ninth grade. He was eligible to make it into the tenth grade._

_He would work hard. He would grow up and be a rich, successful person._

_He would have a lot of money and buy a fancy, expensive mansion and a nice car to go along with it. He would go to all the casinos in the world and throw his money around._

_But he had always heard people saying that they’ve wanted happiness, more than anything._

_Would he be happy, being rich and all?_ _  
__Thoughts of him and Youngjo drifted back into his mind, back to when they used to meet at the park bench._

_Before things changed. Before they had both felt...an unexplainable feeling that pulled them towards each other...like a magnet with opposite sides._

_His heart was pulling him towards the park bench, memories stored in the bench, memories stored in the green bench, hidden where the paint was chipped, slowly coming off. As did their friendship, falling apart._

_Hwanwoong jumped up, his heart urging him on, as he felt himself run out the front door that seemed to act as a barrier that separated him and Youngjo._

_His heart was attached on strings that couldn’t be cut, dragging him towards the bench, unable to avoid it any longer._

_The hot summer air lightly caressed his face as he ran through the streets, seeing a bunch of groups of friends, walking together, laughing, talking together._

_Hwanwoong felt alone. Lonely._

_The run to the park wasn’t that long, for Hwanwoong had arrived, only to be devastated._

_Youngjo sat there, but he was no longer the same kid who sat alone, bathed in the warm rays of the sun, lost in a world written along the lines of another book._

_He sat, laughing, surrounded by his friends, a cigarette resting loosely in between both of his lips, eyebrow cocked, as his friends took a swig from their cans of beer._

_Suddenly, Youngjo and Hwanwoong’s eyes stumbled upon one another’s, the smile on Youngjo’s lips dropping, as he stopped talking to his friends, staring at Hwanwoong._

_He was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead, lips parted, demanded water, disheveled hair, his clothes wrinkled._

_Yet he still looked enchanting._

_Words hung heavily in between Hwanwoong’s lips, begging to be released, as Hwanwoong ignored their cries and pleads, turning on his heel, running back home._

_Youngjo stared at the spot in which Hwanwoong stood for a while, turning back to his friends, not looking back in that direction._

* * *

They say that when heartbreak occurs, the stars cry, and the moon gleams brighter against the night sky, in an effort to comfort the aching heart. 

The aching heart that dedicated itself so much to the art of loving, only to be betrayed.

And so when the heartbroken ones cry themselves to sleep, the moon collects their tears, until it becomes enough to fill up an ocean that once had rich, luscious waves, rapids flowing like the seasons, until the ocean had dried up.

The ocean called love.

* * * 

_“Good morning, class, I am your teacher, Ms. Bae,” The teacher walked into the class, smiling at the seated students, clapping her hands together._

_“Now that you’ve seen your seating arrangements, make sure you keep them in mind—they’ll last like this for the rest of the year, unless...one of you can give me a valid reason as to why they should change.” Walking to the seating arrangement taped to the board, she tapped it lightly with the wooden pointer in her hand, looking back at the students._

_“So, talk. Get to know one another.” She looked down at the small, golden watch on her wrist, then looking back up at the many pairs of eyes waiting for directions._

_“Ten minutes,” She said, making hand motions for them to go talk with each other. “Let’s go!”_

_Voices trickled through the classroom as students had started to introduce themselves to one another._

_Hesitantly, Hwanwoong went to face his partner, not looking at him in the eyes, fiddling with the sleeve that blanketed his hand. His partner sighed, cocking his head, holding out a hand._

_“Youngjo, as you already.” He spoke abruptly, as Hwanwoong nodded._

_“Uh, I-I’m Hwanwoong. I look forward to having a nice year.” He said, speaking in a tiny voice._

_Youngjo nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”_

* * * 

Stars are created, only to burst apart.

They are handcrafted beautifully, special particles picked, removed, arranged, just to be a certain star. 

Each particle is handed with much delicacy and care, making sure to make that star is able to live up to its name.

Each star is created unique. No two stars are ever made with the same combination of particles. Thus, each star shines in accord with the particles it was crafted with.

Every star is unique—in some way.

For the moon is there to witness it all, watching new stars arrive and shine, gleam lusciously like no other star has, in its own manner.

Until it leaves.

But one can never be sure—for there are _some_ stars. _Rare_ ones. That return.

* * *

_Hwanwoong and Youngjo were walking to the park bench, snacks in Youngjo’s hand._

_Senior year, almost coming to an end. The two of them had built a bond, stronger than the previous one._

_The kissing incident was addressed—it was nothing more than an accident happening by two eighth graders who were silly and unaware of what they were doing._

_But there were still moments...moments where Hwanwoong looked up at Youngjo, wanting to crash his lips onto Youngjo’s, and rid every particle of space that dared to lie in between them-_

_But then there were moments where he wanted to run off to the other side of the world, and just hide some place, where Youngjo would never be able to find him. Where Youngjo could never find out about Hwanwoong craving the addicting taste of Youngjo’s lips (he still hadn’t forgotten that taste.)_

_Fuck, Yeo Hwanwoong was madly in love._

_And later that day, Youngjo’s hidden love letters revealed that Hwanwoong was not the only one who felt this certain way._

_They confessed to each other.They were happy. They were finally able to express their feelings, knowing that their desires were shared. All those heavy nights, those long days, all those years of waiting had paid off, finally-_

_Until their final year of college._

_It was declared that they were no longer the right people for each other._ _September. Second. Youngjo’s birthday._

_The atmosphere tensed, clouds of ache hanging heavily in the air._

_That night, when Youngjo went to sleep, sobbing, the moon comforted him, collecting his tears._

* * *

Hwanwoong’s delicate eyes fluttered open as he groaned, pushing himself up on his hands on his white bed-

 _What happened last night?_ He thought to himself, looking around the sun-lit room, neat and-

 _Neat_?

Hwanwoong was _not_ a neat person. In fact, he was quite...the opposite. 

He always had cups littered over his house, stains of coffee on random papers that no longer held importance, clothes littering one of the many velvet sofas in his house, too lazy to pick them up.

Stretching, he yawned, his feet lightly touching the cold tile floor, goosebumps rising along his body. Feet pattering, he decided to waddle downstairs and see where Youngjo was.

Smiling, he inhaled the warm smell of waffles, toddering downstairs, but he wasn’t able to make it far, abruptly halting. A wave of shock took him under its powerful rapids, as Youngjo’s voice, dripping like honey, melted in his ears.

_I am not a newborn_

_My life will shine_

_Even if I am slower than the rest I will stand up for sure_

_It is starting again keep goin'_

_Crossing over a thousand stars to reach that moon_

_When we realize we gotta run_

_Don't stop because of your thoughts_

_The light is amazing_

_Everything gonna be alright_

_Everything gonna be okay_

_All your worries and failures will become light so shine_

His resonant voice was layered with a rich and calming tone, as it blossomed, erupting beautiful petals of stardust, revealing a shining galaxy that lied in front of him. Youngjo’s eyes sparkled, lost in his reminiscing of the days gone by. 

But Hwanwoong….Hwanwoong was still entranced by Youngjo’s voice that gently clawed him down in place. He stood there for what seemed like ages, staring at Youngjo, leaning on the banister.

Decades— _centuries_ flew by.

Hwanwoong couldn’t tear his eyes off of the man standing afar, grace and beauty radiating off of him, even when he wore a silly baby pink sweater, a plain brown apron ties around his waist, and black sweatpants with Hello Kitty designs splattered all over them, wearing periwinkle fur slippers, as he placed another waffle onto the white plate delicately.

Years of longing hung heavily in the air around them. 

At that moment itself, words were useless. Heavy sighs and aching hearts were vulnerable, raw and exposed.

Youngjo turned around, finding an awestruck Hwanwoong there as he greeted him warmly, smiling, as he went to set up the table. As Youngjo finished setting up the table, he went back to Hwanwoong, concerned.

Putting a warm hand on Hwanwoong’s forehead, he leaned in a bit, eyebrows furrowed. Despite standing on the stairs, Hwanwoong was shorter than Youngjo by a few centimeters, as he looked up at the older, memories stinging his eyes.

“Hwanwoong, what’s wrong? I-is everything okay?” Youngjo asked, panic and confusion stricken across his face.

 _His voice._ Hwanwoong thought, feeling memories prick at his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

All that yelling that his heart had done at his mind was finally successful—he truly remembered these things, these _memories_ , the times of happiness, of ease, days of no worries, for the only troubles would consist of small tests and exams, of little things that were of no importance. 

He remembered their _childhood_ —meeting on that green park bench, seeing the older as a young child, once, just like he was.

He remembered sneaking out at night to go hang out with the other, simply make time pass more quickly.

He remembered the innocent embraces, and childish words with a much deeper meaning being exchanged between the two. 

He remembered their first kiss in eighth grade. So much _passion_ , so much _longing_ , so much _want,_ such _intensity_ , the air around them breathing in relief as they tended to their wounded hearts.

He remembered their years of isolation—surrounded by people, yet separated from the other, a yearning to go talk to the other, to go play around with the other, to fill up that void that only grew larger with every day that went by.

He remembered the both of them being partnered up for lab partners in their sophomore year in high school, with their teacher, Ms. Bae, who refused to change Hwanwoong’s seat, no matter how much he protested. 

He remembered getting closer with the older as the next year appeared, their once broken friendship now mending itself, becoming stronger again, as they continued to reunite by that small park bench, stored with billions of hidden emotions.

Senior year. Hwanwoong remembered the hidden letters, the happiness from discovering that he was not alone when feeling this….odd, yet familiar way towards the other. 

He remembered as they kissed once more, more desperation, pining, their strong _urge,_ that strong _desire,_ being reassured with another messy kiss, another relieving solution. He remembered the fear embroidered into the memory, later on soothed by the gentle hushing of love, as the complicated puzzle was finally put together.

He remembered spending his years of college with the older, surrounded by all sorts of joys, frustrations, sadness, anger-

Confusion. He remembered confusion tearing him apart the one day he got offered by a record company label, offering the spot of an anonymous dancer and singer, under the name of Dachshund, only under one condition: to leave everyone in his past life, looking forward to the new possibilities that lied in front of him. 

Days—weeks— _months_ passed by in confusion, in ache, as the younger took on his job at the label, leaving the other in their last year of college. 

On Youngjo’s birthday.

He was such a _shitty_ person, letting his new life completely erase the beauties that lied in his past, transforming him into a new person, with a new personality, one that was simply-

“Hwanwoong! You need to tell me what’s wrong!” Youngjo babbled, continuing to speak words that bounced away from Hwanwoong, his mind falling into a land of memories that were now found.

Hwanwoong felt two warm hands cupping his face, which was drenched in tears, a pair of warm, brown, soft eyes looking down into his own eyes. It was just them, eyes filled with pining, yearning, years of awaiting. Years of grieving for love that they had never lost. Distress trapping them in a whirlwind of woe and loneliness. Longing. The longing to be cherished, held onto, adored dearly.

Hwanwoong swallowed the sob that was stuck in his throat, tears glistening in his eyes, reflecting remorse. 

Clutching onto the older’s shirt, he blinked hard, a hoarse whisper escaping his lips.

“Youngie?”

It went silent. Time stopped for a while. The birds quieted down, and the sounds of children playing outside had faded away.

It was just them, and the past that had returned, haunting them, like a ghost.

Youngjo’s eyes widened at the old nickname, as he jerked back, pulling away from Hwanwoong, looking down at him, tightly gripping his shoulders, not sure he had heard correctly.

“W-what….I-I…what did you just say?” Youngjo asked, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not.

It all had to be a dream. There was no way Hwanwoong suddenly remembered him, all those memories reappearing out of the blues…right? 

(Especially after sleeping for a day straight, waking up a whole ass day later, right?)

By now, Hwanwoong’s swollen eyes revealed the truth to Youngjo, as he stared hard at Youngjo, stumbling over what to say.

“Y-Youngjo,” He spoke softly, hesitantly, taking a step closer to Youngjo, who took a step back, every muscle in his body tense, as though it were a wire that could light on fire at any moment. His hands had now removed themselves from Hwanwoong’s body, resting against his sides.

Hwanwoong sniffled, feeling his face heat up. “Reippeuni,” He croaked out, sobbing, trying to walk towards Youngjo, who only backed up more, his breathing getting heavier by the passing second.

“W-why-why are you calling me that?” Youngjo asked, eyes flashing all over the kitchen, feeling a sort of wave of emotions, one that he was drowning in, as it took him under a wave of familiarity.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

His biggest inclination was getting Hwanwoong to remember their past memories, but it didn’t seem to be that way anymore. 

“Hwanwoong, I-” Youngjo stopped himself, shaking his head violently, eyes glued to the floor, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

 _No, Youngjo,_ he told himself. _You can’t cry anymore. Hwanwoong and you are from two different worlds. No matter what happens, he can’t-_

“Reippeuni, I remember now-” Hwanwoong started, interrupting Youngjo’s train of thought, only to get disrupted by a furious Youngjo.

“Yeo Hwanwoong!” He demanded, full of authority, as his voice quivered towards the end. His fists were tightly clenched, as small grains of rage he held onto tightly slowly started slipping through his fingers by the passing second, as fear soon replaced this uproar.

“You’ve finally remembered me after a decade of leaving me, and forgetting me—deleting me from your life.” He exhaled, stepping away cautiously. “Don’t you think I’ve tried the same?” He asked, yearning and aching filling his voice, as he looked up at Hwanwoong, his eyes holding emotions that ran deep into the very muscles of his aching heart. Agony. Vulnerability. A stinging pain that refused to leave.

It was like cutting onions, the harsh chemicals in the onion pricking at your eyes, making them water.

“Don’t you think…” Youngjo started, his voice not letting him continue, as it trembled. “Don’t you think that-that I’ve tried to forget about you too?” He whispered, pain straining his voice, as he shut his eyes tightly.

For a while, they both just stood there, Youngjo’s words sinking into Hwanwoong’s mind, slashing his heart, feeling guilt pour into him, burning every inch of his soul.

A heavy coat of silence had shrouded the room, neither of them unable to look at one another, or say anything, utter so much as a sound to break the silence that stood so tall. Streaks of melancholy clobbered in between the both of them, running into fathomless places of their hearts that seemed to be unknown. 

Hands trembling, Youngjo ripped the apron off of his waist, throwing it to a side, as it lay on the ground, insignificantly.

Hwanwoong stayed quiet, looking at Youngjo, who angrily tugged at his hair, scrubbing his face.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. How did these memories suddenly restore themselves so suddenly, so abruptly, as though they were hidden in some sort of odd spot?

It seemed though they were hidden in a lock of hair that was tucked around his ear, or a mole engraved so exquisitely into the crease of his hip, one that no one other than Youngjo had seen.

These memories that Youngjo had handled with such care, such protectiveness, storing them in a place that only he could go back to, had suddenly been shared with Hwanwoong.

Hwanwoong, who carelessly let them fly away with another breeze that sang songs of a campfire as the dandelions on the green grass scoffed.

Muttering to himself, Youngjo felt the avalanche of tears grow, horror building up in his body.

Slowly, Hwanwoong approached Youngjo, on his tiptoes, as he pulled Youngjo down, holding him in his warm embrace, trying to pacify the unnerved one, who kept mumbling to himself, babbling off a jumble of words that seemed too incoherent to decipher.

Youngjo pushed himself away from Hwanwoong, tears falling down his face, refusing to believe that what was happening in front of him was real.

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. 

It was Yeo Hwanwoong. The one who had forgotten about everything.

The one who had moved onto a better life, one where he didn’t need any stupid discounts because he was just that rich. 

“Shh, Youngjo,” Hwanwoong muttered, slowly approaching the other, embracing him once more, stroking a soft hand through his downy hair, swaying him to the rhythm of a song that he sang often, the words flowing out of his mouth, hoping the song would lull the older.

Words that he hoped could fix this scattered mess, one that could result in more heartbreak, or in reunited hearts.

_Wise men say only fools rush in_

_But I can’t help falling in love with you_

Youngjo’s wracking body had placated itself to gentle shudders, feeling Hwanwoong’s body, as the song took both of them back in time.

_Shall I stay, would it be a sin?_

_If I can’t help falling in love with you?_

Memories of their days in high school flooded back in front of Youngjo’s eyes. 

Days of Youngjo crouching by the baby blue door of their music room in the basement, an ear pressed to the cold, heavy door, listening to Hwanwoong play the piano, as the words would surge through his lips. Early in the morning, just the two of them, before no one even knew of a place as sacred as this. 

Times like this, where Youngjo wished he could shelter Hwanwoong from the world, keep him in his arms, and never let go. Simply cherish the feeling of being there.

_Like a river flows surely to the sea_

One morning, Youngjo had remembered listening to Hwanwoong crying in the music room, sobbing as he sang this song, fat, heavy tears falling onto the ivory keys, a much fainter melody running through Hwanwoong’s head at that time.

The melody of Youngjo’s voice. His rich, smooth, baritone. It was the voice of one that could embrace you itself, every inch of you.

One of the things Hwanwoong dearly admired about Youngjo was his voice. It was enough to lull him to sleep on the most insomniac nights, and comfort him during the hardest times. 

_Darling so it goes some things are meant to be_

Hwanwoong and Youngjo were fated—they were meant to be. They were a gift from the stars, carefully put together by the moon, presented for the whole world to see and whisper in awe at their beauty.

_Take my hand, take my whole life too_

Hwanwoong had willingly taken the hand that Youngjo had once held out, as they devoted their lives to each other.

And after ten years, when Hwanwoong turned around, he saw the hand that he had let go of, outstretched, waiting for him.

Ten years is a long time. 

Enough to make you forget someone. 

Enough to turn you into someone foreign, someone you’d never imagine yourself being.

But nonetheless, Youngjo’s love was so powerful that it kept Hwanwoong in his mind—in his heart—for one day, fate knew.

One day, Hwanwoong would return. 

He would return with all the love that he had left behind. 

He would return back, for one last trial. 

One that would be declared as a success.

As they both broke away from the hug, eyes that held longing met, locking at once.

_For I can’t help falling in love with you._

Hwanwoong cupped Youngjo’s face in his cold hands, sending shivers up his spine, as Youngjo looked at Hwanwoong with admiration, eyes blurry with tears.

“I-I love you Woong,” Youngjo whispered, tears falling down his face, relief lifting the burden of loneliness off of his heart.

“I love you too, my pretty Youngjo, my beautiful Youngjo,” Hwanwoong said breathily, tilting his face upwards. Youngjo tilted his face downwards, connecting their lips that craved to meet.

A spark that had once fallen asleep had awoken, sending explosions through the both of them with every touch exchanged. Flames of desire burned in between every inch of their lips that met, wandering across lands and acres of devotion.

Hwanwoong felt as though he was soaring, happiness erupting all around the air.

The leaves swirling in their air sung heartily with the wind, hums of joy flaring in the cool fall morning.

Youngjo felt as though he was in some sort of paradise, stopping himself from beaming against Hwanwoong’s lips, bringing the younger closer, passionately kissing him. Desidertion emitted from their bodies, as they kissed each other.

Exploring every part that had already been explored, memories assisting hands in remembering every curve, every muscle, every inch. Exploring every cavern, mouths still recalling the taste that swirled on their tongues. 

Their hearts danced to the present, reliving every past memory in this moment, as they finally pulled away.

Their bodies remained glued to one another, foreheads resting on each others’, as pants filled the small space in between their lips, the both of them trying to regain their breath. 

Hwanwoong laughed, kissing Youngjo again, who held him. 

Tenderly, full of love.

Hwanwoong had never forgotten Youngjo. 

He had stored those memories into a place where no one could touch, deep in the midst of an unknown meadow where no one could find them. 

But then, he had forgotten giant gaps of time, times that consisted of Youngjo. Yet even then, those memories never dared to fully escape his mind.

As Hwanwoong sang the last line of the song, both lovers stayed there, embracing each other tightly, filling up the empty void that had rested in their hearts for the longest time, as the simple presence of the other started to tend to aching wounds, the void now overflowing with love.

_For I can’t help falling in love with you~_

* * *

The cool night breeze encased Youngjo, for Hwanwoong wore Youngjo’s white wool cardigan, as it whispered to the junctures of his shoulders. 

Hwanwoong smiled at their intertwined hands, his eyes returning to the sea he once called out to in times of loneliness. For now, he was no longer lonely. He had Youngjo. And Youngjo had him.

“Whatcha thinking of, Woongie?” Youngjo asked, looking over at him, eyes glazed with so much adoration, so much love, so much affection.

Hwanwoong shyly smiled, looking down at the sand that their feet lightly grazed upon. 

“Nothing much.” He spoke quietly, his voice small, joyous as he looked over at Youngjo.

Laughing heartily, Hwanwoong squeezed Youngjo’s hand. “I mean, other than you, of course.” He muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up. Youngjo chuckled, biting the last bits of his vanilla ice cream that they had bought together, the remaining flavors dancing on his tongue.

They walked along the beach, playfully swinging hands, as the grains of sand playfully rolled their eyes as the lovey-dovey couple, the one fate had bragged to them about. 

“Really now? What about me?” Youngjo asked in a teasing manner, his voice playfully tugging at Hwanwoong’s ears, as they turned red. 

Hwanwoong looked back at the ocean, yet Youngjo still evaded his sight. His utter beauty managed to stun Hwanwoong. shrugged nonchalantly, licking the top of his ice cream.

“How you stayed.” Hwanwoong whispered, but it was loud enough for Youngjo to hear, who looked over at Hwanwoong, his heart melting. 

“Hwanwoong…” Youngjo started, as a smiling Hongjoong met him, tears glistening brightly as sparks of joy danced in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Hwanwoong tried to say, but it came out as a whisper, as he let his warm tears collide with his cold cheeks.

Sighing, Youngjo took Hwanwoong’s face in his hands, leaning down, his face bathed in the gleam of the moonlight. Sniffling, he met Youngjo’s gentle, adoring gaze, staring deeply into his own. 

Their eyes waltzed in the infinite cycle of love, secured in a haze of cherishment.

“Angel, you don’t need to thank me,” Youngjo gently muttered, the cool night breeze carrying his words to Hwanwoong, who looked down, shaking his head, curling his toes into the cool sand.

“No,” he shook his head, as he and Youngjo stood facing each other, holding hands, Youngjo slowly swaying them back and forth, side to side. Hwanwoong stared at the middle of Youngjo’s shirt, blinking hard. “You stayed,” he croaked out, laughing, as tears fell. Looking back up at Youngjo, he gently squeezed his hands, holding onto them.

“You stayed, Youngie. Y-you stayed...when-when I didn’t. And that’s changed me. It-it…” Hwanwoong sighed deeply, feeling the muscles in his mouth twitch, aching, _urging_ him to go on. 

“It’s changed my life. It’s changed me as a person, and how I see things, and I-I just can’t even properly express how much I fucking _love_ you, Kim Youngjo.” Hwanwoong sniffled, as his eyes had unintentionally found themselves stuck back into Youngjo’s shirt.

A comfortable silence spread in the atmosphere around them. Hands stayed intertwined, as did their hearts. 

The moon above chuckled, eager to hear Youngjo’s response, as the stars whispered amongst each other, venturing upon what would happen next. The calm waves simply continued singing their melody that led deeper on into the serene hours of the night. 

Slowly, Youngjo let go of Hwanwoong’s hands, as he brought Hwanwoong into his embrace, placing the smaller’s feet onto his own, holding him in his welcoming arms.

As Youngjo always had, he let a melody adorned with lyrics leave his mouth, his lips pressed against the shell of Hwanwoong’s ear, his deep, calming voice booming through Hwanwoong’s body.

Hwanwoong felt warm and safe. Youngjo was now the blazing fireplace Hwanwong used to come home to, and simply talk for hours, and tell everything. 

Youngjo was his safe haven.

A smile crept on Hwanwoong’s lips, as Youngjo swayed both of their bodies, side to side.

And from a distance, you could hear the faint hum of a butterfly, its wings flapping brightly into the dark night that swallowed it whole.

* * *

As it was seen, Kim Youngjo and Yeo Hwanwoong were given multiple retrials, ones that fate was stubborn to set. Fate let destiny crawl its way through their lives, making each encounter quite unique.

From the first time in ten years, to the second time in the bar, to the third time in Youngjo’s bookstore, to the final time—that had made fate’s hard work come to use. 

And fate sighed, as destiny returned to its side, the two partners proved worthy of their magical work. 

Fate had its eyes set on the pair from the very first time they had met, from when Hwanwoong had decided to walk over to the “boy with the book”. And every time fate declared a retrial, destiny smiled.

For each retrial was different from the last, more intense, more difficult. 

Despair for a want that was unknown clawed harder at Hwanwoong every time he saw Youngjo. 

Desire for remembrance clung to Youngjo’s heart, as he decided to wait. 

To endure.

* * *

When a cherry blossom grows, its process is proven to be one of nature’s finest works.

It starts out—ugly and painful, thorns stabbing the other branches around it, blocking everything from entering. And it stays that way for a while—cold, and all alone in the snow that tries to come through, and break down its walls, all to no avail.

Time passes, and eventually, the branches learn to lean away from the growing flower, straying further away. They learn to live facing the opposite direction from that cherry blossom, ignoring it.

And then the ugly flower is isolated, trapped within itself, as the flower learned to make the visiting snow its temporary companion; for even the snow melted away at some point.

Fate had a plan in mind—one that was determined as crucial.

As one day, a sparrow decided to go down near the flower, it’s talons perched on the thorns. 

And the flower screamed and cried, yelling at the bird, _begging_ for it to leave, to go away. But the bird stayed, despite the ugly wails that ripped out of the flower’s wretched heart. 

The bird allowed the thorns to prick at its feet, as blood trails down, its wings clenched against its body, due to the amount of pain.

The bird stayed. And it came back, every single day. It never left, only when it left for its nest, returning the next day. 

But soon enough, the sparrow made the grumpy flower its home, adjusting to the thorns, letting the cold snow mantle its small frame, as it continued to stay perched for hours. 

All alone, with no companion to turn to. Just like the blossoming flower.

And so for once, after multiple seasons drifting off into years, the flower decided to peek out of its thorny wall, looking at the sparrow.

And for the first time, in what seems like forever, the sparrow smiled, as it chirps happily. 

That day, the sun shines brighter, as the clouds return back to a small spot, retreating behind the sun. 

And all the birds fly back in the spring, envying the sacred spot reserved for the single sparrow, as the trees gossiped amongst one another, scoffing every now and then in disbelief.

None of them truly _understood_ how much the sparrow endured, as it continued to wait patiently, listening to everything being said.

And every day, little by little, the flower would peek out a bit more, eagerly looking at the sparrow. Who would only smile and chirp in response. Small conversations fluttered, as the sparrow and the lonely flower developed a bond that was indescribably dazzling.

And every day, the flower learned to love itself a bit more, confidence helping the flower peek out a bit more. Day by day, the flower opened up to the sparrow. Until one day, the thorns sunk back into the dark branches, and small petals began to blossom.

Love was in the air.

The sparrow could only marvel at how aesthetically alluring the flowers’ beauty was, for it was something to truly ponder upon. As the flower was adored, properly seeing the beautiful sparrow for the first time, the cherry blossom awed at how much grace filled the spots that could not seem to be enough.

The sparrow and the flower had promised each other to never let go. So when the sparrow patiently waited through the changing seasons, enduring the harshest winds, the harshest snow, it would remind itself who it endured this for.

All for the flower to blossom once more, more beautiful than the year before. 

But out of every flower that shrunk back into its wall, this was the only blossom that never released its thorns. 

Just for the sparrow.

As the seasons passed, their love continued to blossom, calling out to them in moments that were engraved in stone.

They accepted each other as they continued to mature, and grow old together, aging through the passing years.

And as the sparrow’s days came to an end, both the cherry blossom and the sparrow rested in the roots of the wise, strong tree trunk, the flower’s petals protecting the sparrow from the world above. 

So when their story came to an end, the skies above cried alongside the stars, as the moon wept secretly, hidden in the ocean, who, for that _one_ night, it collected the moon’s tears. 

For they were the cherry blossom and the sparrow: another one of fate and destiny’s absolute masterpieces. 

In the end, they both had cherished their love ripening, in the seasons that were to come. 

They had lived, and they had loved.

As did Kim Youngjo and Yeo Hwanwoong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you’ve made it this far! I hope you’ve all enjoyed this short story! Let me know what you all think! have a lovely day! <3
> 
> *Don’t hesitate to reach out to me on twitter—bagchuu! let me know what else I should write!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for checking out the first chapter—hope it didn’t disappoint!  
> Let me know what you thought about this chapter!  
> Have a wonderful day! <3


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